


goodbye blue sky

by saintsansa



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Character Death, Death of a friend, Drama, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, World War I, two young adults going through trauma together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25495654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsansa/pseuds/saintsansa
Summary: ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐍. ❞[will schofield x oc][1917][completed][k.h.]
Relationships: William Schofield/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	1. one.   in the flesh?

SHE STARED AT HER BLOODY HANDS. They didn't quite feel like her own hands anymore. It was almost like a stranger controlled her hands as her eyes watched them move. Wrapping these wounds was procedure, muscle memory. Day in, day out, she saw eighteen to thirty men and wrapped their wounds - big and small. All the men knew her, and most prayed to their gods they wouldn't have to see her. Her rough hands were less than desirable to the common man and her intolerance towards their sexual comments could sour any mood.

Tears began to build up in her eyes as she looked over the now deceased body of Lance Corporal Ronald Taft. Dark blood dripped from the metal operating table in the middle of the tent. Her heart wrenched and her hands curled into tight fists. You should've done more, she thought to herself.

A hand reached up and gently squeezed her shoulder. "We did all we could." The soothing voice of Nurse Amelia Vickert spoke from her right. Her white nurses apron was stained a light brown from the dried blood that had spattered onto her.

"Maybe we could've-"

"It's too late for that." Amelia cut her off, shaking away any doubts in her mind. They had done all they could do. "People die, Mags. God called him home." She made her way out of the tent to change her uniform.

Mags kept her eyes on the corpse in front of her. Her mother had always taught her that the Lord worked in mysterious ways, and their job was to put their trust in him. That was bullshit, she thought to herself. What god would allow this? Maybe this war was proof that they had free will? Or maybe it was all part of an omnipotent being that was moving them like pieces on a chessboard.

Two soldiers entered the tent. One grabbed the top two corners of the sheet underneath the body while the other grabbed the bottom two corners. They picked him up inside the sheet and carried him out of the tent, leaving Mags completely alone. With a quick sniffle, she began gathering the surgical equipment up. Placing all of the tools on a small tray, she carried it over to the small and rusty sink. She rubbed her nose with the sleeve of her blue nurses gown before turning the sink on.

The water was cold and had a yellowish tint. With a soft huff of air, she grabbed the scalpel and ran it under the water. The shakiness of her tan hands made it difficult to keep the utensil underneath the soft stream of water. Curses slipped through her lips in frustration at herself. Blowing a piece of dark blonde hair that fell out of her bonnet out of her face, she dropped the scalpel on the sink. "Shit," she hissed as her still bloody hand ripped the bonnet off of her head.

"Nurse Winters," a deep voice called from the entrance.

Her entire body stiffened as she turned to face the man in front of her. Shifting under his gaze, her hands clasped together in front of her. She mustered a friendly smile. "General Erinmore, what can I do for you?"

"I need you to come with me, Miss Winters." His dark eyes glanced down at the blood still staining her hands. "Clean yourself up first."

With a fierce nod, she rolled the sleeves up on her dress and began scrubbing her hands underneath the stream of the freezing water. What could the general want with her? Was she in trouble? That couldn't be, she hadn't done anything wrong - as far as she knew. Maybe she was getting to go home. As much as she loved being a nurse, she had wanted nothing more than to go home and hug her mother and kiss her sister's forehead and argue with her brother relentlessly. She didn't even know if her brother was safe. He had joined the 2nd Devons shortly after joining the godforsaken war and he stopped writing letters long ago.

Shaking her head, she turned the tap off and grabbed one of the towels on the table next to her. After drying her hands, she straightened out her stained apron and left the tent. Just outside the tent, General Erinmore waited with his hands clasped in front of him. "Follow me, Nurse Winters."

"Nurse Winters sounds so... formal." She nervously giggled, scratching her left arm gently. Her footsteps were quick and barely enough to keep up with the man's long strides. The silence between them grew even more awkward. Glancing around the gray and bleak surroundings, Mags swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. Her black boots squelched in the mud as they descended into the trenches.

The soldiers surrounding her sent confused stares as she followed the general. Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she diverted her gaze to her boots. "In here." General Erinmore spoke, stepping to the side to let her enter the bunker. Two young men in 8th Division uniforms watched them enter the bunker with their brows furrowed. "Gentlemen, this is Nurse Margaret Winters. She will be accompanying you on your mission."

"I'm sorry?" Mags spoke with wide eyes. "What mission?"

"Lance Corporals Schofield and Blake here are going to the 2nd Devons near Écoust." General Erinmore explained, motioning towards the two young men in front of her. "You will be going with them. This will be a dangerous mission and they'll need a nurse."

"You see," Mags began, her left thumb digging into the skin of her right hand, "when I became a nurse, I didn't quite expect to be going on dangerous missions."

"Miss Winters, you see death every day. If you are unprepared for this mission, perhaps you shouldn't be a nurse in this war."

A soft glare settled in her soft blue eyes. "With all due respect, General, I know how to take care of myself."

"Then why are you so hesitant on this mission, Nurse Winters?"

"I-" She stopped, glancing at the two men who watched her intently. Glancing down at her boot clad feet, she took a deep breath. You lose your temper too often, her mother would tell her with a pointed finger. After their father had passed away, all of the Winters children had become drastically different people. Her brother had once been a bright and hopeful young man, and her sister had once been cheerful, now they were all dreary and hopeless. The war hadn't quite helped them become anymore upbeat, either. "I suppose, sir, sending two men and a woman on a mission by themselves sounds like a suicide mission."

"Is that what you suppose, Miss Winters?" General Erinmore glared harshly at the nurse. "Then perhaps I should step down and let you become general. How does that sound? Do you suppose that would work in your favor?"

With clenched fists, she shook her head. "No, sir."

"Then perhaps plans are best left to the men."

With a deep breath, Mags dug her fingernails deeply into the palms of her hands. Her jaw clenched tightly as she glanced towards the two soldiers that watched her with wide eyes. Red hot blood flushed her cheeks a dark pink at the embarrassment she had just been subject to. The general broke down where they would be going, but Mags refused to listen. All she needed were her supplies and a change of clothes. Maybe they would give her a soldier's uniform. A dress wasn't any good sort of outfit for someone about to go on a battlefield.

Oh, God, she thought, I'll be on a battlefield. She didn't even know how to fire a gun. Her mother had taught her that diplomacy was the way of ladies and that fighting was for boys. A pair of tan clothing was held out to her. "Here is your new uniform, Miss Winters. If you're to be on a battlefield, then a dress isn't what you need." General Erinmore spoke, glancing between her and the pair of clothes one of the soldiers held out to her. "Boys, escort this young lady back to the medical tent to gather supplies and head out immediately."

"Just us three, sir?" The taller soldier asked as they neared the entrance of the bunker.

"Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne, he travels the fastest travels alone. Wouldn't you agree, Lieutenant?" The general spoke before waving them off.

Behind both of the men, Mags followed. The men argued as they made their way through the trenches - though she couldn't quite focus on their words. Her thoughts traveled miles a minute. What if they didn't make it back? What would her mother think? Would she cry and mourn more than she did their father? Would Alex and Liz make it back and mourn her too? Or would they meet the same fate as her?

"I didn't catch your name, miss."

Her gaze snapped up to meet that of the taller soldier. "Margaret Winters. And you are?"

"Will Schofield and this is Thomas Blake." The taller one gave a soft smile as he held his hand out. Tucking the clothes under her arm, she shook his hand with a gentle smile. The group fell silent once again as they made their way to the medical tent.

As they approached the blue tent, Mags made her way inside, leaving the boys outside. She was quick to strip off her dirty apron, stained blue dress, and black boots. Sliding the trousers on gave her a foreign sensation. Her mother had forbid trousers for the girls, stating it unladylike and unsuitable for women. Pulling on the white undershirt, she quickly slid the tan button-up over the undershirt. After buttoning each button carefully, she pulled the tan socks on, pulling them over the legs of the trousers. She slid the tan jacket over the button-up. Her black boots were the last thing she equipped.

After dressing, Mags grabbed a large pack and began stuffing whatever medical supplies she would need. One feature that seemed to help her in the war was that Mags was a pessimist. Going for a simple walk in the park? You could trip over a rock and shatter your kneecap. Grabbing groceries? Someone could just come up and snatch you without a second thought. She was paranoid, and her mother hated that. Ladies shouldn't think such negative things, her mother would say with a roll of her eyes.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she continued stuffing bandages, gauze, wrappings, and the like into her pack. She approached her personal pack on the floor and began looting through it. Pulling out articles of undergarments and socks, she tossed them to the ground. A small stack of photos lie at the bottom of her pack, staring up at her and burning holes into her hands. Her fingers wrapped around the photos, pulling them out of her pack. The first photo in the stack was a family portrait. Her frowning mother, her stern father, her happy siblings, and her. It never ceased to amaze her how much Alex looked like their father. Their broad shoulders, the creases on their foreheads, their expressive blue eyes, and their deep brown hair. Both Mags and her sister were given their mother's deep honey hair that was thicker than straw and longer than hair needed to be.

"Are you ready?" The shorter soldier, Thomas Blake, asked, poking his head into the tent. "We need to leave soon."

"One more moment, I promise." Mags mustered up as much of a smile as she could. Blake nodded with a small smile before returning outside of the tent. She stuffed the photos into the inner side pocket of the tan jacket of her uniform. Cramming her hand back into the pack, she began fishing through it. When her fingers scraped against a familiar cardboard box. A smile grew on her lips as she pulled the box of Redford's cigarettes. She quickly pushed the box into the left outer pocket of her jacket, along with a small box of matches. Tossing the pack over her shoulder, she made her way out of the tent. "All ready, boys." Her toothy smile was enough to put a genuine smile on the boys' faces.

The group began making their way back to the trenches. The two men in front of her began to argue again as they made their way down into the trenches. A deep sigh tumbled from her lips. This was going to be a long two days.


	2. two.   slip out of your depth

"SETTLE A BET, WILL YA?" His voice was rough with weariness. The dark circles around his eyes were a deep purple and the veins in his eyes were more prominent. His gaze was blank, alluding to the horrors he had seen. She prayed she would never be like him. "What day is it?" His face was shiny with sweat. His gaze danced between all of them. He recognized her, but the boys were unfamiliar to him.

"Friday, sir." Schofield answered.

"Friday," the man scoffs, rubbing his face. "Looks like none of us was right. This idiot thought it was Tuesday." The soldier he waved towards apologized before ducking his head and continuing to read whatever book he held. Perhaps it was a Bible. The lieutenant turned to the nurse. "They roped you into all of this?"

"The General did." A small, joking smile played on her lips. "You know how it goes, shit flows downhill and I'm at the bottom of the hill, apparently."

Lieutenant Leslie chuckled as he began reading over the letter that Blake had handed him. His face immediately dropped. "Are they out of their fucking minds? One slow night, and the brass think the Hun have just gone home?"

"You think they're wrong, sir?" Schofield asked as he glanced towards Blake to gauge his reaction.

Shaking his head, Leslie rubbed his face once again. "We lost an officer and three men two nights ago. They were shot to bits patching up the wire. No point in calling the nurses 'cause we couldn't even get to 'em until nightfall. We dragged 'em back here. Shouldn't have bothered, now that I think about it."

Determination filled Blake. His brother was in danger. If they didn't reach Écoust then who knew what could happen. "Sir, the General is sure the enemy have withdrawn. There are aerials of the new line-"

He was cut off when Leslie pushed himself out of the bed. "Shut up," he hissed at the young soldier, "we've fought and died over every inch of this fucking place, now they suddenly give us miles?"

"Les, what if he's right?" Mags spoke up, surprising both of the men. "What if they have retreated? That means we've got a shot and you know damn well better than to lose that."

"You may see our wounded, but you do not see battle." Leslie spoke, turning his attention to the nurse. "You don't see them while they're getting shot or blown to bits or gutted by the enemy."

Mags nodded slowly. "You're right. I thank God every night that I don't. But I've had too many men die from being too afraid to do something like pull the trigger to not take this opportunity. I know you feel the same way, but you're being too fucking stubborn to admit it."

Leslie's jaw visibly clenched. Both Blake and Schofield stiffened up as they watched the exchange. A tense moment passed before a smile and a chuckle spilled from the lieutenant's lips. "You're a work of art, you know that, Winters?" With a proud smirk adorning her rosy lips, she followed the man through the trench. Both soldiers followed behind them. The lieutenant stopped suddenly, turning to the trio. "This is a trap. But," he turns to the men, "chin up. There's a medal in it for sure. Nothing like a scrap of metal to cheer up a former mother and a widow."

Mags' right hand gently grazed against the jacket, where the photos of her family rested. This action did not go unnoticed by all three men. With a shake of his head, Leslie continued guiding them through the trench towards a small rudimentary periscope that pointed out towards the front lines. "Where's the nearest way through, sir?" Blake asked from behind Mags.

"Our wire's a mess, but there is a path through, of sorts." Leslie shrugged. He motioned Blake towards the periscope. "Rushworth, let them look!" He waved for the soldier on the periscope to step down and let Blake take a look through it. "Straight ahead, to the left, past the dead horses. There's a gap directly behind them." Mags winced at the thought of climbing over the corpses of horses and men alike. "Useful, because if it's dark, you just follow the stench. When you get to the second wire, look out for the bowing chap. There's a small break just beside him."

Both Mags and Schofield shared unnerved glances. Everything inside them told them to run. This couldn't be right. What if the German hadn't gone after all? Was it worth it to just get gunned down the moment they poked their heads out of the trench? Would they become just another corpse on the battlefield, left to rot for the vultures? Her left thumb began digging into the palm of her right hand. "The German line is a hundred and fifty odd yards after that. Watch out for the craters. They're deeper than they look. You fall in, there's no getting out." Leslie motions for them to continue following him.

"Any cover, sir?" Schofield asked as he followed closely behind Leslie. "Anywhere to jump off from?"

Leslie motions them towards a makeshift ladder made out of plywood. "No. The sap trench was blown to hell weeks ago. It's full of bodies anyway. Your best bet is to pop over here."

Mags stared at the ladder with uncertainty. This did not spell out anything good for them. "This is where we go up?" She asked, her voice wavering.

Leslie turned to her, a sorry look in his eyes. "Do you have to go with them? It's a suicide mission." His gaze danced to the boys who stared at them with wide and nervous eyes. "No offense, lads."

"General's orders." She chuckled nervously. "I told him the same thing and he got angry with me."

"Men often do when a woman's right." Leslie patted her shoulder in a comforting manner before turning to the men. "If you do get shot, try to make it back to the wire. We won't come after you, not until it's dark. And, if by some fucking miracle you do make it, send up a flare."

Schofield shared glances between Mags and Blake. "We don't have any, sir."

Leslie turns to a soldier. "Well get him one, Kilgour!" The soldier was quick to jog off to grab a flare gun. Mags rolled her eyes at Leslie's shouts. The lieutenant pulls out a flask of whiskey and begins sprinkling it on them. "'Through this holy unction may the Lord pardon thee whatever sins or faults thou hast committed.'" His eyes land on the nurse. "Especially you, you naughty bird." The blonde rolled her eyes, raising her middle finger at him.

When Kilgour returned with a flare gun, Leslie quickly took it and handed it to Blake. "I do hate to lose these to the Hun. So, when they start shooting at you, could you be so kind as to throw it back." He gives a throwing motion before patting Blake's shoulder. "There's a good chap. Cheerio." He turns to the nurse that's remained silent for most of the time. "Try and keep yourself alive out there. You're no good to us in a box, dearest. And take this." He places his flask of whiskey in her hand. "You'll need it more than I."

"I'll make sure to make it back, just for you, John." Mags pressed a soft and quick kiss to Leslie's cheek before joining the two soldiers at the ladder. Stuffing the flask into her pack, she pushed back pieces of honey blonde hair. She stood behind Blake, preparing to climb onto the battlefield. Her breathing became jagged and her ears began to ring. The only noise she heard was her heavy breathing. Wrapping her hands around the strap of her pack, she blinked away the tears that built in her eyes before climbing the ladder after Blake.

There was no turning back. This was it and this was where she left her old self behind.


	3. three.   will they put me in the firing line?

HE PULLED THE BARBED WIRE BACK A BIT. Both the solider and the nurse made their way through the wire. The moment Mags made her way past the entrance, the wire snapped back. A barb punctured into Schofield's hand, eliciting a grunt of pain from him. Curses slipped out of her mouth as she delicately grabbed the wire and pulled it back for him to pull his hand out. "When we stop, I'll wrap it, okay?" She reassured him. "I don't have enough room to get into my pack." He nodded in response, holding his bleeding hand against his chest.

Craters littered the muddy ground ahead of them. Reminders of the realities they lived in. Who had these shots killed? How many had they killed? How many were soldiers she had seen? These questions would linger in her mind without an answer. Ahead in the distance, the German line of wires could be seen. Dead trees dotted the horizon in the distance. "Sap trench." Schofield pointed out towards the small crater. He led them to the sap trench, being the first to go in.

Shortly after, Mags jumps in after. She cringes as her butt lands against the squishy mud. With swift movements, she begins rooting through her bag for gauze. As she pulls the roll of gauze out of her bag, Blake jumps back, knocking her over into Schofield. To catch himself, Schofield's injured hand lands inside the open and rotting stomach of the dead German soldier. "You fucking idiot!" Mags shouts at Blake with pure rage in her tone.

Blake stares at his friend in shock. He's panicking. His terrified eyes meet the angry ones of the nurse. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Sco-"

"Shut up." Schofield mumbles, pulling his wounded and dirty hand out of the corpse.

With a huff of annoyance, Mags grabs his wounded hand and places it in front of her. "We can't move yet. You'll have to be patient, Blake."

"We have to keep moving."

"He may lose his hand because of you, so I don't think you're in any position to be giving me orders." Her glare and tone were sharp. It cut him. Her gaze softened at the pure remorse that overtook Blake's features. "He's not going to lose his hand. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Just... I need you to be more careful next time, Blake."

"I'm not a child."

Mags rolled her eyes before returning to Schofield's hand. Pulling out the flask Leslie gave her, she mumbled an apology before pouring the whiskey onto his wound. He grunted in pain as his free hand grabbed her wrist tightly. "I have to do this. It's the best thing we've got." She reassured him before pouring a small bit of whiskey onto the wound. Placing the flask back in her pack before beginning to wrap his hand with gauze. "That's as good as we can do right now. As soon as we get to the Second Devons, we'll take you to a doctor."

The solider nodded, taking deep and steady breaths to ease the pulsing pain in his hand. With one last deep breath, Schofield leads the two along the sap trench towards the German line. Everything is silent. It wasn't a soft and enjoyable silence, but an eerie and unsettling silence. It sounded like the calm before the storm. Mags glanced around the area, on high alert for any enemy soldiers.

A loud roar caught the trio off guard. They all fell flat to the ground. Two planes flew above them in the air. "Stay still." Schofield warns the others. The planes quickly fly overhead, the loud engines fading in the distance. Glancing towards the planes, he turned to them. "They're ours." Blake nodded. "Let's keep going. We're halfway there."

The three pushed themselves off of the ground and continued to the German line. As they make their way through, they stop at the edge of a large crater. Schofield glances up at the nurse. "Only way is down and through." She mumbles, looking towards the wire just beyond the gaping crater. Leslie's words echoed in her mind. 'You fall in, there's no getting out.' The group begins to slowly sink down into the steep bank of the crater. Mags winces at the sight of the mucus-colored water. A dead and bloated German soldier floats in the water.

The group follows Schofield's steps around the crater. As they approach the gap of broken wire, the group begins to climb up the wall of mud. Both Blake and Mags struggled as they climbed. Schofield reaches out to Blake, pulling him further up before holding his hand out to Mags. "I can do this." She shook her head as her hands continued to dig into the mud to get a firm grip. When she couldn't, she let out a deep sigh before placing her right hand in Schofield's. The soldier pulled her up where she could easily climb the rest of the way.

"Looks like we're even now." He mumbles as he pushes himself out of the crater.

Before she could respond, Blake pointed towards the trenches. "There! That's the front line."

Both men take lead in front of Mags, aiming their rifles towards the German trench. Blake is the first one to move, with Schofield and Mags following closely behind. Their eyes and rifles trailed up the length of the trench. Nothing but empty caverns. "Fuck me, they really have gone." Blake huffs. No one responds as the three slowly begin their descent into the trenches.

Mags takes in the environment. The trench is much better fortified and crafted than their own. Even that wasn't enough to save them, though. One wall is smashed into the earth from shells. In front of her, Schofield grunts in pain. He's looking at his hand. The white gauze is stained a dark brown from the blood and pus that began to seep out.

"Your hand alright?" Blake asked, wincing at the sight of the bandage.

"I put it through a fucking German." Schofield spoke pointedly.

Mags rolls her eyes as she rounds in front of him, taking his wounded hand in hers to begin looking over it. She set her pack down to pull out another roll of gauze. Only two more, she mentally took inventory of her pack. Grabbing the flask, she tucked it under her arm and unwrapped the gauze surrounding Schofield's hand. The moment the wrap came free, she winced at the sight of the swollen and still bleeding flesh. It was a raging red and hot to the touch. She mentally cursed before pouring out a little more whiskey onto his hand. This time, he shouted in pain. The two shared a glance of unease as Mags began to re-wrap the wound.

"She's patched you on up." Blake smiled at his friend. "You'll be wanking in no time."

"Wrong hand." Schofield responds. Upon hearing Mags' giggle, his cheeks began burning. "Sorry, I'm not used-"

"It was funny, Schofield. That's all I care about." She slung the pack over her shoulder and turned to follow Blake through the trenches. Both soldiers keep their rifles drawn, keeping an alert eye open. As they follow through the grooves of the trench, they come upon an entrance to an underground bunkhouse. The path in front of them was completely caved in. Everything past the doorframe is pitch black.

"Maybe this is a way through." Blake suggests to the group. Both Mags and Schofield share a glance before nodding. As Blake makes his way into the bunker, Mags takes one last look at the clear blue sky. She mentally sends it a goodbye before making her way into the bunker, Schofield quickly behind her.


	4. four.   mother

SHE WATCHES HER BROTHER INTENTLY. His focus is unmatched. The rabbit in front of them calmly eats the leaves, paying the two teenagers no mind. His breathing is soft and repressed. He doesn't want to make a sound. He doesn't want to scare off the rabbit. She wants to ask a question, but she knows better. Shifting her body, she slowly moves to a more comfortable position, resting on her elbows.

His movements are gentle and calculated. As his index finger slowly moves to the trigger of his rifle, the siblings hold their breath. As his finger begins to press on the trigger, a shrill shout scares both the teenagers and the rabbit. His finger presses the trigger, only for the bullet to hit a tree stump to the left where the rabbit had been. Curses slipped past his lips as he pushed himself up off the ground.

"What in blue blazes are you doing out here?" Their mother approaches the two with a glare in her eyes directed towards the younger girl. "What do you think you're doing?" When her gaze landed on the dirt stains on the girl's dress, she lets out a loud huff. "And look at your dress! You've ruined it now!" Her hand roughly wrapped around the girl's elbow, pulling her off the ground.

"It's my fault, Mum." The boy stood up, brushing off the dirt from his own clothes. "I wanted to show her how to hunt."

"And why would you want to show a young lady something like that? Don't you know anything about women, boy?" She drags the girl back towards their house. "I can't believe you, Margaret. It seems you do everything in your power to upset me. Do you do this on purpose? You'e going to give me a heart attack one day."

Mags stays silent, deciding it better to stay silent than to argue. Her father had always told her that, when it came to her mother, it was best to just let her get her rants out and move on. As they entered the house, the eldest girl watched with furrowed eyebrows. "Is everything alright?" She asks, staring at the two women.

"Yes, Elizabeth. Your sister decided she wanted to pretend to be a boy and learn how to hunt." Their mother turned Mags. "Go upstairs and change. And don't be too long. You and your sister are learning how to make bread today."

Mags turns towards the stairs that lead up to the children's bedrooms. Tears began to build in her eyes as she made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. Why couldn't she just hunt with her brother? She wasn't even the one with the gun. She was just there to watch. Her right hand lifted to wipe away a stray tear that fell down her cheek. Shortly behind her, Alex followed with a concerned look on his face. Before she could close her door, his hand quickly caught the door. "I'm sorry, Maggie."

She shook her head, waving him off. It was obvious that she refused to look at him. Don't you dare cry, she told herself. "Get out of my room, Alex."

"Maggie, I'm serious. I didn't think she'd react like that-"

"Because you're her favorite!" Mags shouted, spinning to face her older brother. "You and Liz can do no wrong in her eyes. I'm just the fucked up girl who can't do anything right." Tears spilled down her cheeks as she took a seat on the corner of her bed. Alex took a seat next to his youngest sister and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Her sobs racked her body. Mags leaned against her brother's warm body. Nothing was more comforting than her brother's presence.

"Maggie, you're not a fuck-up. You're the smartest girl I know. You don't put up with anyone's horseshit, especially not us boys. I don't worry about you like I do Liz. I know if any man tries anything, you could kick his arse better than I ever could." Alex's left hand rubs small and comforting circles against her back. Pressing a soft kiss against her head, he squeezed her into his grip.

"I signed up to be a nurse in the war."

"I'm sorry?" Alex pulled his arm away from her.

"You heard me." Mags wipes away the remainder of her tears. "The Queen Alexandra's came by our nursing classes last week. I volunteered to be one of the recruits they send to the front lines."

Alex pushed himself off of the bed. His glare was sharp towards her. "You know what? You're a fucking idiot. I take back everything I just said. I can't believe you." Running a hand through his hair, he let out a sigh. "Have you even told Mum or Liz?"

Mags let out a scoff. "That's a dumb question."

Letting out another sigh, he reclaimed his seat next to her. He reached into his left back pocket and pulled out a folded paper. Placing it on her lap, he watched her open it and begin reading it. "I got that last week in the mail. I haven't been able to think of how to tell them. Hell, I didn't even know how to tell you."

"Margaret!" Their mother shouted from downstairs. "You're taking too long! Get down here!"

Mags handed the letter back to Alex. "Maybe we'll be in the same area. Then I can protect you." She bumped his shoulder with hers, a soft smile growing on her rosy lips.

A sad gaze formed in his eyes. "I don't want to go, Margaret." He whispered. "I don't want to kill anyone."

Her right hand reached up to give her brother a comforting squeeze. "I wish I could give you comforting words, but... I can't."

The bedroom door flung open. Her mother glared down at the two siblings. "You haven't even changed. Have you two been sitting up here the entire time? That's it. Alex, go to your room. Margaret, get changed this instant. I'm sick of telling you what to do, only to be ignored."

Alex pushed himself off the bed, making his way out of the bedroom. Mags stared down at her hands. Should she break the news now? No, there would be a time, and now was not the time. Though, she only had a week left to tell the woman. Maybe tomorrow. Or maybe that would just be a waste of time.


	5. five.   did you see the frightened ones?

HER EYES SQUINTED IN AN ATTEMPT TO SEE IN THE DARKNESS. The only thing helping her see was the light from Schofield and Blake's torches. Blake took lead while Schofield remained vigilant behind Mags. "So," Blake spoke from in front of the nurse, "you and Lieutenant Leslie, huh?"

"What are you insinuating, Blake?" Mags asked, a sharp tone overtaking her voice. This conversation could only end badly. Schofield watched from the back, a cringe overtaking his features. Something told him to stop his friend from doing anything stupid, but he knew the damage had already been done.

"I'm just saying," Blake shrugged his shoulders, a playful smirk on his lips, "you two seemed awfully close when we were about to hop on over."

"Ignore him." Schofield was quick to stop the conversation. Mags rolled her eyes, unbeknownst to the two men in her presence. As much as Blake and her argued, she couldn't help but admire the young man. He was ambitious, she'd give him that. Had he seen any real combat? His constant joking attitude told her that he hadn't. But maybe that wasn't a bad thing. Or maybe it was. She didn't have any actual combat experience either - didn't even know how to shoot a gun, if it came down to it.

They came upon a barracks inside the bunker. Her eyes widened at the size of the room and the sheer number of bunk beds it held. "Christ." Mags whispers as she runs her right index finger along one of the rusty bedframes.

"They built all this." Blake mumbles as they slowly walk through the room.

Mags glances back to see Schofield staring at a photograph pinned to one of the bedframes. It was a photo of a woman and child - the wife and child of a German soldier. "It's easy to forget they probably want to go home, too." She quietly speaks. The man's eyes land on her, watching her as she takes in the photo. "It seems we're all just children fighting wars for old men, right?" Letting out a humorless chuckle, she pulls the photo from the bedframe and quickly stuffs into her pack. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, but he doesn't question her, and she doesn't answer to him.

They move into a smaller room, the Officer's quarters. A large bed sits in the corner of the room while an armchair sits in the opposite corner. "There's a way through here." Schofield points out to a door.

Blake takes his time taking in the room. With a joking smile, he takes a seat on the large bed. "Hey, what about this?" He gently bounces on the bed. Both Schofield and Mags can't help the small smile that grows on their lips. The springs of the bed squeak loudly, echoing through the empty bunker.

Catching a glimpse of a small string around his neck, Mags' brows furrowed. "Blake, what's 'round your neck?"

The young man smiled widely as he pushes himself off of the bed. Pulling the string out, a necklace of bottle corks swings out from under his uniform. "I've been collecting these whiskey corks." His proud expression elicited a soft smile from the nurse. "Every time I drink a bottle of whiskey, I put the cork on it. Hoping to get two more just to make it even." The corks bumped together.

"Well, if I find any whiskey, I'll share it with you." Mags and Blake share a soft laugh.

A creak from the rafters and movement to their side causes all of them to jump back. A giant rat gnaws on a small bag that's hung from the rafters. "Bloody hell, even their rats are bigger than ours." Blake mumbles, his eyes wide from the near heart attack the rat had given them.

Glancing up, they all watch another giant and bloated rat run across the beams of the ceiling. Mags squints her eyes, looking closely at the bags hanging from the rafters. There are grease stains at the bottom of the bag. As she breathes, she catches a whiff of rotten food and gags. She coughs violently and leans her hands onto her knees."I wonder what's in these bags." Blake pokes one of the bags with the end of his rifle.

Schofield pats Mags' back as she continues to cough. "You cannot be that hungry." He rolls his eyes at his friend. When she pushes herself back up into a standing position, she sends a look of thanks to the soldier.

The rat leaps from one bag to another, the one she had just been looking at. She winces in disgust. The creature was plump and bloated. It's fur was a dark gray, almost black, and there were patches of it missing, revealing scabbed or bleeding flesh. "Look at that, cocky little bastard." Blake chuckles, rolling his eyes.

Schofield makes his way over to a crate in the corner of the room. "Here, you can eat this." He tosses a can towards Blake. When Blake questions him, a joking smile grows on the man's lips. "It's Boche dog meat." Mags winces once more. She was more than disgusted. Was that what she smelt? A shiver runs through her body. She doesn't feel comfortable. They've been there for too long. Schofield turns to go through the other crates, but freezes in his place.

"What's wrong?" Blake asks.

"Tripwire." Mags answers before Schofield can. Her wide eyes stare down at the thin wire just in front of him. "Don't move."

"No shit." Schofield whispers.

"I was talking to Blake, you ass." Mags whispers back, her voice tremulous.

"Where is it?" Blake asks as his eyes search for the wire.

"Goes from here to the door." Schofield answers, staring down at the wire in absolute terror. One wrong move and they could all die in an instant. They all share petrified looks, wondering how they would get out of this situation. As they look for a way out, a loud splat on the floor scares them. A rat drags one of the sacks on the floor. They let out a breath before realizing the rat is nearing the wire. "NO!" They shout.

They're all knocked back by the explosion. Her ears ring loudly. Her vision is blurry and her mind is spinning. Fuck. She tries to breathe, but all she does is inhale more dust and dirt. The ground above her shakes violently. The bunker's collapsing, she thinks to herself. Blake... Schofield... Did they make it? Only one way to find.

Mags forces her eyes to focus. "Blake!" She calls out. "Schofield!"

"Here!" The voice sounds like Blake.

She rubs her eyes, wiping off any dust that dared invade her eyesight. "Blake, I can't see you."

"Where's Sco?" Blake calls out.

"I can't see you, much less Schofield." She grunts in anger and frustration as she wipes her eyes once again. As she moves forward, her feet catch onto something, throwing her onto the ground. "Is that you, Blake?"

"Yeah, it's me." His arm wraps around hers, pulling her off the ground. Blake grabs his torch off of the ground and begins looking around the room. No sign of Schofield. "Sco?!" He calls out. Looking around the room, he notices a foot sticking out of the rubble. It's him. "Sco!" He shouts as he darts for the rubble. Mags turns to see him frantically pulling the rocks out and joins him. With another grunt of annoyance, she throws her bag off of her shoulder to help her throw the rocks better.

When Schofield's face comes into their vision, Blake grabs him by his pack straps and pulls him out of the rubble. They're both quick to wipe away the dust and chalk that covers his face. "Lean him forward." Mags tells Blake. When he leans the man forward, she begins hitting on his back. After a few hits, Schofield begins coughing up dirt and dust. He gags, almost throwing up. "We need to get him up. This bunker isn't going to last forever."

"Sco, I need you to stand!" Blake tells his friend. "Stand up, Sco! Come on!" He slings Schofield's arm around his shoulder, as does Mags. They both lift him out of the debris and begin carrying him towards the door he had previously pointed out. "Keep hold of us, okay?" Blake instructs Schofield, his voice shaky.

As they make their way through the tunnel, Schofield coughs violently. "I can't see." He repeats over and over.

"When we get out, I'll clean your eyes out." Mags reassures him. Letting out a gasp, she realizes that her pack is still inside the room. "Shit!" She curses.

"What?" Blake asks.

"My pack, it's still in that room." Her eyes are wide and fearful. "I have to go back."

"What?!" His eyebrows furrow in fury. "You can't go back! That's suicide!"

"It's suicide if I leave it." She gently pulls Schofield's arm off of her shoulders and takes off back through the tunnel. Blake's shouts fall to the background as she runs down the tunnel. Tears brim her eyes. This might be her death. She supposed it was better to run headfirst into her death if she were going to die. Whether she got the pack or not, Schofield and Blake would be fucked if they didn't have those supplies.

Mags enters the room. Her eyes search frantically for the pack. She spots it right in front of the rubble. The ground shakes violently, throwing her to the ground. With a grunt, she reaches out, grabbing a strap of the pack and dragging it towards herself. Pushing herself off the ground, she slings the pack over her shoulder and begins to run back out. Behind her, the entire room collapses on itself. Not a moment too soon, she thinks to herself as she runs through the tunnel back to the soldiers.

Her feet skid to a stop when she sees Blake on the other side of a crack of a mineshaft. Schofield remains on her side, yelling at Blake. "Winters, help me!" Blake calls for help, referencing to the currently blind solider in front of him. Mags approaches Schofield's right side. Her hand slides into his. "Do you trust me, Will?" She asks. He uses his left hand in an attempt to wipe away the dust in his eyes. It was a fruitless attempt. "Will, do you trust me or not?" The man slowly nods. "I'm going to jump and then I'll pull you over, okay?" He nods once again.

Mags takes a deep breath before leaping over the crevice to the dark abyss below them. Her feet slam onto the ground with a thud. "Okay, it's an easy jump. Probably not even four feet. Reach your hand out." The man reaches his left arm out. Her hand intertwines with his. "Jump, now!" Schofield is quick to jump. He stumbles when his feet make contact with the ground. His hands cling to Blake and Mags.

The two carry Schofield through the tunnel. The sound of collapsing tunnel fills their ears from behind. A fork in the tunnel in front of them stops them. Blake glances into both. To his right, he spots a haze of blue - the sky. "To the right! I see daylight." The three make their way through the right tunnel, to their only chance of survival. As they reach the end of the tunnel, the three scramble up out of the bunkers.

Blake lets go of Schofield as he scans the area for any enemies. Mags helps Schofield take a seat on the ground before beginning to dig through her pack. "I have to flush your eyes, okay?"

"Not more whiskey?" Schofield asks, his tone near pitiful.

A small smile grows on her lips. "No, just water." She pulls her canteen of water out of her pack. "You seem to be the one drawing the short straw lately." Mags jokes as she untucks her button-up from her trousers and begins ripping a piece of fabric off. "Are you always this much trouble, medically?"

"Only when I have an idiot for a partner." He responds. Nothing in his tone seems to be joking. Mags glances back towards Blake, hoping he hadn't heard the comment. He hadn't. "There's so much dust in my eyes."

"I know, darling." Her tone is almost endearing. It's sweet and tender and nothing like he had heard from her. Was she like this with all of the other men she'd seen in her time as a nurse in the Great War? She dabs the fabric in the water and begins gently rubbing away the dust on his face. "This is the easy part, just to warn you." Her chuckle is almost harmonious. After the ringing in their ears had dulled, it was nice to hear something of happiness.

When she finishes cleaning off his face, she grabs the canteen. "Okay, I need to pry your eyes open and clean them out." He lets out a soft sigh. "Don't be so dramatic, Schofield. Compared to that hand, I'm sure this might be the easiest thing we do in the next day or so." Mags gently uses her left index finger and thumb to pry his left eyelids open. She quickly counts down from three and begins pouring a soft and small stream of water into his eye. After a second, she closes the eyelids and pries them back open in a blinking motion. After another second or two of pouring the water in his eye and blinking, she pulls back. "How's that?"

"Much better." His smile is crooked and somewhat forced, but it's a smile nevertheless.

"Now for the right eye." Mags repeats the process with his other eye until she runs out of water in her canteen. "All good?"

"All good." He mumbles, rubbing his eyes and face. Letting out a groan, he grabs his own canteen and begins downing the water.

"I wish I'd shot that rat now." Blake mumbles, glancing around the empty area.

"And I wish you'd picked some other blood idiot." Schofield snaps.

"What?"

"Why in God's name did you have to pick me?" Mags rolls her eyes as she places everything in her pack. Glancing up, she notices him pulling a tobacco tin out of his jacket pocket and notices that it's empty. His hands are shaking more than she'd ever seen a man shake. She pulls her own cigarette box out of her jacket pocket and sticks one of the pieces in between her lips. No time like the present, she thought to herself.

"I didn't know what I was picking you for." Blake defends himself.

"No, you didn't." Schofield rolls his eyes as he places the tin back in his pocket. "You never know. That's your problem."

Blake takes a step back from his friend. He's clearly hurt by the comment. "Alright then, go back. Nothing's stopping you." He shrugs his shoulders. His eyes glance over to Mags, who simply observes the argument. "You can go all the bloody way home if you want."

"Don't." Schofield practically warns. His eyes move to his left side to Mags' extended arm. In her fingers was a cigarette. For a moment, he contemplates taking the stick, but he shakes his head. "Trying to quit."

"You're a better man than I." Mags chuckles as she places the cigarette back in her box. Striking a match, she lights her cigarette, inhaling the sweet taste. With this single motion, all of her stress is alleviated.

"Look," Blake starts, grabbing Schofield's attention again, "I didn't know what I was choosing you for. I thought they were going to send us back up the line, or for food, or something. I thought it was going to be something easy, alright? I never thought it would be this." There's a tense silence in the group. Blake lets out a sigh as he pulls out the flare gun. "So, do you want to go back?"

Schofield looks up at his friend. His harsh glare has softened to a tired glaze. "Just fire the fucking flare." He mumbles, rubbing his face. His eyes turn to observe the nurse. She looks calm, without a care in the world. As she takes another drag of her cigarette, he finds himself envious. He missed the days when he would just sit in the living room, packing a pipe of tobacco, and reading the newspaper while listening to the radio. He could imagine her swaying to the music on the radio, taking deep and slow drags from her cigarette - the smoke dissipating in the air as she hummed along to whatever song was playing.

When he came back to his senses, he noticed her holding out the already lit cigarette. "Are you sure you don't want a puff? You look mighty jealous of me." Her gaze is playful and her smile is full. Even after his argument with Blake and the hell he had just been through, he couldn't stop the smile that grew on his lips as he took the cigarette from her hand and took a long and slow drag. He had missed it, smoking. Blowing the smoke out, he handed the stick back to the nurse. She snubbed it against the ground beneath her. "Don't be too harsh on him, yeah? He's naive, but he's got the spirit." Her tone was hushed and her eyes were on Blake.

Schofield nodded in agreement. She was smart, he had to admit. She was smarter than anyone he had met in this godforsaken war. Maybe he had found a friend in Margaret Winters. After all, she did save his life in the tunnel. He trusted her, and he knew it. Letting out a sigh, he rubbed his face again. Could this day get any worse?


	6. six.   nobody home

HER FEET DRAGGED AGAINST THE GROUND. Her wide eyes took in the destroyed artillery that the German forces had left behind. "Look at that," Blake speaks, breaking the silence, "they destroyed their own guns." Ammunition and cannons are abandoned in the field, destroyed beyond recognition.

"They destroyed their own trenches, too." Schofield mumbled, taking in the surroundings.

Furrowing his brow, Blake glanced back at his friend. "What do you mean?"

"I think they wanted us to go that way." Schofield spoke with a grim tone. From behind him, Mags stared towards the dismantled weaponry on the ground. "They wanted to bury us." It sounded true, but were the Germans that smart? Did they really plan all of that, knowing they would go that way? Maybe they just set it all up. Maybe they're watching them. Maybe they've been watching them from the moment they left the General's bunker and they're watching them at this very moment. She shook her head - no point in believing such conspiracy theories.

A noise startles the trio. Both Blake and Schofield turn, ready to kill whomever appears from the rubble. A fat rat scuttles out from underneath a dead German soldier. The group lets out a collective sigh of relief. "Bastard rats." Blake mumbles under his breath as they continue their trek.

Mags lets out a soft sigh. A soreness begins to form throughout her spine. She stretches the muscles, hoping that maybe that would provide her some relief; it provides very little support. Her feet begin to ache. She wasn't used to walking this much. Standing, she did with little issue, but being on the move constantly for hours on end was new to her. It didn't help that she was almost killed in a German bunker. A piece of honey blonde hair falls into her face, tickling her cheek. With a huff of air, she blows the piece away.

"So, Mags," Blake starts, eliciting an eye roll from the nurse, "do you like peaches?"

Her eyebrows furrow. "I'm sorry?"

"Peaches, do you like 'em?" He repeats the question.

"Uh..." she chuckles, shaking her head, "I could take 'em or leave 'em. I don't really hold strong opinions towards peaches."

"Well, I hate them." His voice fills with disgust, surprising her. She'd never heard him speak on something so strongly. "I think this world would be much better off without them."

Mags' steps fell in line with Schofield's. "Should I even ask?" She whispered to him.

The soldier shrugged his shoulders. "He'll tell you that he 'just does.'" His fingers formed air quotes.

"Why do you hate peaches so much, Blake?" She asked. Her bottom lip was taken by her top row of teeth as she pushed back her laughter.

"Just do." Blake shrugged his shoulders.

Both Mags and Schofield shared playful glances. He gave her an unspoken 'I told you so' which she nodded at. Her eyes glance down at his hands; they're still shaking madly. Pity and guilt consumed her. Guilt at what? None of the events were her fault. But there was still an inkling in her that told her she should've done something different. Maybe she should've pulled him away from the tripwire. Maybe she should've made them leave sooner without looking around.

"Hey," Blake speaks up again, "did you hear that story about Wilko? How he lost his ear?"

Mags smiles. She had heard the story from Amelia.

"I'm not in the mood." Schofield shakes his head, keeping a watchful eye out. "Keep your eyes on the trees, top of the ridge."

"Bet he told you it was shrapnel." Blake knows his friend. He knows his friend can't resist a stupid and funny story.

After a moment of silence, Schofield's brow furrows. "What was it then?"

Another wide smile grows on Mags' lips as Blake recounts the story that Amelia had rushed to her tent to tell her. Patient confidentiality be damned, this was war. "Well, you know his girl's a hairdresser, right? And he was moaning about the lack of bathing facilities when he wrote to her - remember those rancid jakes at Arras?"

Schofield nods in response. His face forms a wince in memory of the smell.

"Anyway, she sends him over this 'hair oil.' Smells sweet, like Golden Syrup. Wilko loves the smell, but he doesn't want to cart it around in his pack, so-" As he continues the story, they make their way down a small hill. The area looks nothing like the one they had just been in. There's grass covering the entire area. Ruined buildings litter the ground ahead. "He slathers it all over his barnet, goes to sleep and in the middle of the night he wakes up, and a rat is sitting on his shoulder licking the oil off of his head!"

Both Mags and Schofield begin to laugh. She had to give it to Blake, he was a much better storyteller than Amelia ever could be. "Wilko panics and he jumps up and when he does, the rat bites clean through his fuckin' ear and he runs off with it!" They're all laughing together. A much deserved moment of peace and pure happiness. "Oh, he made a hell of a fuss, yelling and screaming." They make their way down the small hill, taking in their surroundings. "Best of it was he put so much bloody oil on himself that he couldn't wash it off! He was like a magnet. Rats left us alone, but they couldn't get enough of him. Poor bastard."

In the sky, two planes fly above them. They're heading the opposite direction they had just been flying before they entered the trenches. "Heading back home," Schofield mumbles, watching them, "wonder what they saw."

"Best not to dwell on that." Mags speaks quietly, but her words are more than heard by the men.

"Watch the ridge lines." Blake instructs as they continue their trek.

There's a silence among the group. Mags stares down at her hands. The whiskey flask in her pack begins to weigh her down. "We slept together." She breaks the silence. Both soldiers stop in their tracks, turning to look at the girl. "You asked about Lieutenant Leslie and I. Well..." She trailed off, her cheeks forming a bright red blush against her pale skin. "I was stationed with one of his companies, and we were pinned down in the bunkers. His troops were stuck in one section while Leslie and I were in another. I thought I was going to die in some stinking hole filled with mud and water and-" She stops herself. Glancing up, she takes notice of the men listening intently. "I didn't want to die a... a virgin, y'know."

"I knew it!" Blake exclaimed with a laugh. His laugh carried on for a few moments. It put the nurse at ease to see him so easygoing towards it. She had sworn to Leslie to take that secret to her grave, but the two soldiers gave her a sense of ease. She felt she could trust them. "I fucking knew it. I mean," Blake turns to her with furrowed eyebrows, "him out of all people?"

Letting out a scoff, Mags rolls her eyes. Her fist collides against his bicep in a playful punch. "I said that I thought I was going to die! And he's not ugly. He's very attractive when he isn't covered in sweat." The two shared a deep laugh.

From behind them, Schofield couldn't help but smile as the two traded jokes. "I mean," Blake's voice brought him back to the present, "you'd've been better off with Schofield there."

Glancing back, the nurse smiles politely. "Well, maybe if Schofield had been there, it'd have been a different story." Blake laughs heartily, turning to look towards his friend. He can't help but notice the soft blush of embarrassment that crosses Schofield's face.

Another silent moment fills the air. The roar of the planes are a mere hum as they fly further and further from them. "Well that's your medal sorted then." Schofield breaks the silence, clearing his throat.

"What do you mean?" Blake asks.

"'Lance Corporal Blake showed unusual valor in rescuing a comrade from certain death' blah, blah, blah." Mags smiles as he continues. The proud smile that forms on Blake's lips is enough to warm the heart of even the coldest people.

"You reckon?"

"I do."

A pleased and proud smile grows even wider on Blake's face. He'd get to shove it in his older brother's face all day when he saw him. He could finally hold something over his brother for once in his life."Well, that'd be nice. Especially since you lost yours."

Mags glances up to see Schofield's eyes dart between his friend, the nurse, and the ground. "I didn't lose mine." He finally speaks.

"What happened to it, then?"

"Why do you care?"

"Why do you not?" Blake asks. Ooh, checkmate on Blake's part, Mags thinks to herself. She knows better than to involve herself in conversations like these. They were friends, clearly. And she didn't know them that well. She had seen them here and there in the camp, - the two were practically inseparable - but had never had a reason to speak to the two.

"I swapped it with a French captain." Schofield finally answers.

"Swapped it? For what?" Blake asks.

"Bottle of wine."

Mags wants to laugh. Is it a joke? Did he really trade a medal for a bottle of wine?

"What did you do that for?" Blake asks, his voice accusatory.

"I was thirsty."

"What a waste." Blake's tone holds more venom with that remark. It surprises both Schofield and Mags. Apparently there were two things in this life that Blake hated: peaches and giving away medals. "You should have taken it home with you. You should have given it to your family." The other soldier remains silent. The nurse looks up towards him. His entire body is tense and his eyes are misty. "Men have died for that."

"Bloody lot of help that did them." Mags snorts. She's quick to freeze. Both Schofield and Blake stare at her with wide eyes. Maybe they had forgotten she was even in their company. She had been so quiet that her presence was easily forgettable. "They're dead. What's a dead man going to do with a piece of tin with a ribbon on it?"

"Well, if I got a medal, I'd take it back home. Why didn't you just take it home-" Blake is cut off when Schofield snaps.

"Look, it's just a bit of bloody tin!" He swings his arms in exasperation. "It doesn't make you special. It doesn't make any difference to anyone."

"It's not just tin." Blake speaks, his voice quiet. "Like she said, it's got a ribbon on it."

Mags giggles.

"I hated going home." Schofield speaks, his voice quiet and withdrawn. "I hated it. When I knew I couldn't stay. When I knew I had to leave them, and they might never see me-" He stops as tears fill his eyes.

Her mind flutters back to her family. Her mother's screams when she told her that she had signed up to go help with the Queen Alexandra's at the front lines. Her sister's cries still echoed in her mind. Her hand curls into a tight fist. The look of pure rage and hate in her mother's eyes as she told Mags that she was never welcome back still haunted her every minute of the day. A tear slipped down her cheek the more she dwelt on it.

"What's wrong, Mags?" Blake's voice pulls her out of her daydream.

Shaking her head, she roughly wipes the tear away, scratching her cheek with her fingernail in the process. "Nothing, sorry. Just thinking." Clearing her throat, she jogs to catch up with the two men as they continue their trek through the broken terrain.


	7. seven.   run like hell

HE STARED IN HORROR AT THE CHOPPED TREES. How could they? He could only imagine how beautiful the trees had looked once upon a time. It nearly broke his heart to look at the broken and cut branches. His fingers took a piece of dead petal in between his thumb and index finger. It practically crumbled against the pressure. His eyes glanced towards the nurse, watching her look at the trees with curiosity. "Jesus." He mumbles to himself. "They chopped them all down."

Blake scratches his arm. It's clear he feels guilty about bringing up his friend's family. "Cherries." He finally speaks, his voice scratchy. Picking a dying blossom off of a branch, he looks at it with a nostalgic fondness. "Lamberts." The three continue making their way past the cut trees. "They might be Dukes, hard to tell when they aren't in fruit."

"What's the difference?" Both Schofield and Mags ask in unison. Her fist collided with his arm. "Jinx, you owe me a drink." She giggled as he rubbed the sore spot on his arm. For such a small girl, she packed a punch, he thought to himself. His chuckle put both Blake and herself at ease, knowing that Schofield was once again loosening up.

"Well," Blake began explaining from in front of the group, "people think there's one type, but there's lots of them - Cuthberts, Queen Annes, Montmorencys. Sweet ones, sour ones-"

"Why on Earth would you know this?" Schofield asked, chuckling with Mags.

"Mum's got an orchard back home. Only a few trees. This time of year, it looks like it's been snowing, blossoms everywhere." A small smile grew on Mags' lips as she imagined Blake's orchard. She couldn't even fathom just how beautiful it must look; how peaceful and serene it must feel to just sit and exist there. "And then in May, we have to pick them. Me and Joe. Takes the whole day." Both the nurse and the soldier could hear the homesickness in Blake's tone.

Glancing around, Schofield looks down at the dead blossom in his hand. "So, these all goners?"

"Oh, no," Blake shook his head, a smile on his lips, "they'll grow again when the stones rot. You'll end up with more trees than before." He slows his pace to hand Mags the fresh blossom in his hand. A soft blush grows on the girl's cheeks as she thanks him.

The group come upon a stone wall with a gate. Schofield and Blake take cover behind opposite sides of the wall; Mags takes cover behind Schofield. Beyond the gate lies the remnants of an abandoned farmhouse. The barn is littered with shell holes and the house itself looks near collapse. Everything is quiet and still. Schofield's hands flex before curling into fists.

"It looks abandoned." Blake breaks the silence.

"Let's hope so." Schofield responds, glancing at the old house.

"We have to make sure." Blake nods towards the building. Both of their gazes turn to the nurse. "You should stay back here."

Mags glances up at Schofield, who nods, agreeing with his friend. "It's best if you stay back here. We'll give you a signal if it's clear."

"And if it's not?" Mags asks, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Then you'll hear the gunshots and know." Blake answers before Schofield can.

"I think I should go." Mags begins to argue. "What if one of you gets shot or stabbed or something?"

"Then we'll yell out for you." Schofield answers.

Rolling her eyes, she crosses her arms over her chest. "Fine, but don't be too long. I don't want to be back here alone."

Both the soldiers' gazes soften at the girl's clear anxiety towards being left alone. "We'll be back before you can say, 'Blake is the best.'" Blake gave a reassuring smile that elicited a soft giggle from Mags.

Schofield led the way towards the house, his rifle ready for anyone that decided to pop out. Blake follows close behind. They slowly move down the hill. "So, what do you think of her?" Blake asks quietly.

Schofield's eyebrows furrow as he looks to his friend. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, c'mon then!" Blake chuckles. "Don't act like you haven't noticed. She's quite the looker, that one."

Schofield rolls his eyes. "Keep your mind focused, Blake." A joking smile begins to grow on his lips. "Besides, she's too old for you."

"Too old?" Blake laughs. "She's, what, maybe two years older than me." The men share a laugh together. "So, what, you thinking about making a move when this is all over?"

Glancing back at his friend and towards the girl peeking out from behind the wall, Schofield shook his head. "She's all yours, mate."

"Nah," Blake shakes his head, "I think she's more into you than she is me." With a chuckle, he glances around at their surroundings. "I mean, just the way she cleaned all that dirt off you after the bunker told me all I needed to know."

"Is that so?" Schofield rolls his eyes.

"Don't act like you didn't like it." Blake laughs, jokingly shoving his friend. "What I'd give to have a pretty nurse tenderly clean dirt off my face." Both friends shared a laugh as a faint blush or embarrassment colored Schofield's face. The two slowly fall to silence as they grow closer to the house.

As they approach the house, Schofield turns to his friend. "I'll take the front, you take the back." He whispers.

The two split up. Blake quickly disappears around the corner of the house as Schofield carefully makes his way closer towards the front door. A dead dog lies in front of the house. His face scrunches up in disgust at the rotting creature. His hands flex before tightening around the rifle as he moves over it. He glances back towards the stone wall to catch a glimpse of the girl carefully watching them from behind the wall.

Schofield quickly leaves her frame of sight as he enters the house. Taking a deep breath, Mags looks back down at the blossom Blake had given her. She twirls it between her fingers, smiling at the prettiness of it. In such short time, the two men had grown on her. She supposed that going through near death experiences would do that to a group.

Setting her pack on the ground, she dug through her pockets. She took a seat on the ground, her back against the stone wall as she began flipping through the photos she held close to her heart. One of her favorites was one of her and Alex as children, making sand castles on a beach. From what she could remember, it was from West Wittering. A soft smile grew on her rosy lips as she flipped to the next photo.

The next one was of her brother and her father. Their stoic expressions somehow comforted her. They always seemed to know how to handle tough situations that would send her crying. She missed her father every day, and she missed her brother every second. Before she could flip to the next photo, a shout from the house grabbed her attention. Peeking out from behind the wall, she could see both Blake and Schofield waving her over. Placing the blossom into her breast pocket, she pushed herself off the ground. She quickly stuffed the photos back into her jacket pocket and slung her pack onto her shoulder before making her way over to the house. "Find anything worth stealing?" She called, flashing a playful and toothy smile to the men.

"Unless you want to steal a burnt doll, I don't think so." Blake responds, earning a slap to the arm from Schofield. He exclaims in shock, furrowing his brow as he looks at his friend.

The nurse stops in her tracks, staring down at the rotting corpse of the dog at her feet. "Suppose he doesn't have anything good on him." Mags mumbles under her breath, too quiet for the soldiers to hear. Her gaze turns from the dog to the men. "You check out the barn yet?"

"No." Schofield responds.

"I'll go take a look." She nods before turning to approach the dilapidated barn. Schofield scoffs as he jogs out of the house to catch up with her. "What?" She asks when he catches up to her.

"You really shouldn't go barging into places you haven't been to."

Rolling her eyes, Mags crosses her arms over her chest. "You really shouldn't be as stuffy as you are. I've met men who've had their leg blown off who can make more jokes than you."

Schofield turns his gaze to the woman. Part of him can't tell if she's joking or not. Her expression tells him that she's being serious. "You really shouldn't be as reckless as you are. Going back for that bag in the bunker was too risky."

"But these supplies saved your eyesight. And they probably saved your hand."

She had a point, he'd admit. "Still." He responded. "It's not worth your life."

It was Mags' turn to look up at him. She liked him, she would admit. He was nice, though a bit thick-headed at times. He reminded her of Alex. Her gaze looked down to see his hand flex before tightening into a fist. Her eyebrows furrowed together. She turned her gaze back towards the barn as they entered it. It was empty, save for a bucket in the middle of it. Schofield inspects the bucket as Mags looks out over the empty field. A lone cow stands in the middle, two or three dead cows lying near it. A pit forms in her stomach at the sight.

"Here's that drink I owe you." Schofield's voice pulls her attention away from the sight and towards the bucket that was filled with milk. Her face scrunches up in disgust. He begins to chuckle, holding out his canteen towards her.

"I was thinking something more along the lines of the alcoholic realm of drinks." Mags gently pushes the canteen back towards him. The man shrugs his shoulders before taking a swig of the milk in his canteen. A shiver of distaste racks her body.

"Map says we get over that ridge and it's a straight shot to Écoust." Blake speaks as he enters the barn.

Schofield nods. "Good." He simply responds before taking another swig of milk.

Mags watches in discomfort as he refills his canteen with more of the milk from the bucket. "You don't even know how old that is." She mumbles, rolling her eyes. Something about milk utterly disgusted her. When it was warm, it was gross. When it was cold, it was tolerable, but still her last choice on the list of beverages. Schofield's chuckle grabs her attention. "And what are you laughing at?"

"You." His voice was matter of fact. A joking smirk grew on his lips as the girl puffs her bottom lip out like a child. "When all you can drink is dirty water and liquor, milk begins to taste like the heavens. Though I suppose you nurses got the clean water, though." He takes another swig from his canteen before closing it.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asks, an almost accusatory tone to her voice.

"Nothing," he shrugs his shoulders, "just that you nurses probably got all the accommodations, right?"

"Sco-" Blake started, furrowing his brow at his friend's sudden shift in tone.

Holding her hand up to stop Blake from interfering, she shakes her head. "What's your problem, eh? Blake gave you the opportunity to go back at the bunker and you didn't. If you don't want to be here then maybe you shouldn't."

"You're right, I don't want to be here." Schofield shook his head as well. "I want to be home."

"Well, join the fucking club!" She shouted, stunning both men. "You think you're the only one with a family? My brother is somewhere in this French hellhole, fighting off Germans and, even if I make it out of here, my mother won't let me come home. Blake's got a brother fighting with mine. You're not the only one who's got something to lose." By the end, her voice had grown quiet. Her fists were balled up tight. She refused to look up at the men as a warm blush filled her cheeks. Tense silence filled the air between the three.

"Mags, I'm-" Schofield began to apologize, but stopped when she held her hand out for him to shake.

"Stressful times, right?" He nodded in response as he shook her hand. "We all need to vent a little. Now we don't have to argue for another few hours." His gaze moved up to her face where a playful smile grew on her face - though it didn't quite meet her eyes.

Blake moved outside of the back of the barn. Three planes flew in the distance. One plane took lead from the other two. "Is that our friends again?" He asks as he squints his eyes in an attempt to see them better.

"Looks like it." Schofield nods. "Dogfight." His eyes glance between the nurse and the planes. Mags is occupying herself with rearranging items in her bag as the two soldiers watch the planes.

"Who's winning?" Blake asks.

"Us, I think." Schofield answers. "Two on one."

Mags ignores their conversation. Her mind is far away from this farmhouse in France. It's back in Sussex with her family. Her former family, she supposed. If she thought hard enough, she could still hear her brother and her mother fighting the day that they had to leave for the train station. Tears pricked at her eyes. No, not now, she thought to herself, they'll think you're a baby. Shaking her head, she took a deep breath. A loud pop in the distance pushed her to her feet. "What was that?" She asked, worry in her voice.

"They got the German plane." Blake smiled as he pointed out towards the three planes. Plumes of smoke rose from the single plane.

The lone plane begins to sink towards the Earth. Both Blake and Schofield watch closely, taking slow steps towards where the plane disappeared over the hills. Mags' brows furrow as she begins taking steps backwards. "I didn't hear it crash." She called out to the men. Her calls fall on deaf ears as they continue advancing.

The plane quickly reappears over the hill. Schofield's hand grabs Blake's arm as he realizes they are in the direct path of the plane. "Go!" He yells to Blake and Mags. All of them run away from the plane. Both him and Blake run through the barn. It's gaining on them quickly and they won't be able to make it back to the house for shelter. "Down!" He yells at Mags as he and Blake fall to the ground. The nurse ahead of them quickly falls to the ground, covering her head.

The entire plane smashes into the barn. It stops against the solid earth beneath it. Flames from the aircraft begin quickly spreading onto the barn. A man in the pilot's seat screams in fear and agony. Blake is the first one to move, much to Schofield's complaints. They both run into the barn to see the pilot fiercely attempting to pull himself free from the seatbelt. Flames begin to engulf the entire craft.

As Blake unclips the seatbelt, he exclaims in pain as the burning metal presses against the back of his hand. Together, they pull the pilot free and begin dragging him out onto the field towards Mags. She furiously digging through her pack, looking for adequate supplies. She never anticipated burn injuries. Why would she? Likelihood said they wouldn't even be around fire on their overnight trip.

As the soldiers drop the pilot in front of her, his shrill shouts grab all of their attention. German, she thinks, he's speaking German. Should she even help him? He's the enemy. The humane side of her told her yes, that he was a human like her. But the British side of her told her no, that he'd turn on them in a moment's notice. Her eyes darted between the man and Schofield's wide eyes. His gaze offers no guidance. She swallows a lump that had formed in her throat. Fuck.


	8. eight.   don't leave me now

"WE SHOULD PUT HIM OUT OF HIS MISERY." Schofield suggests, shaking his head.

Blake glares at his friend. "No. Get him some water. He needs water." He instructs Schofield before turning to Mags. "What can you do? You have to have something that can help him!"

"I'll look." She shook her head as she turned to dig around in her bag behind her. She can hear him comforting the pilot as Schofield moves to the water pump. This is a mistake, she tells herself. As much as she appreciated Blake's valor, he was being reckless. Who's the reckless one now, she thought, Schofield's face appearing in her mind. As she digs through her bag, a sharp pain erupts in the back of her left bicep. Mags exclaims in pain, grabbing the area. When she pulled her hand back, her eyes widened at the blood that completely covered her palm.

Turning, she yells as the German's knife plunges into Blake's stomach. Schofield turns at the sound of her shouts. He drops the helmet of water and pulls his rifle around. Aiming, he shoots the pilot in the shoulder. With a burst of adrenaline, Mags grabs the knife in his hand and thrusts it into his neck. Her eyes widen as she watches blood seep from the wound. The pilot drops to the ground as he wheezes his last breaths.

Both Mags and Schofield make their way over to Blake as he collapses onto the ground. Her stained fingers begin unbuttoning his jacket and shirt. Recoiling back, she winces at the blood that is quickly spreading through his clothes. "Will, grab my pack." She demands as she holds pressure on Blake's wound. He yells out in pain, trying to push her hands away, but she refuses to give. "Shut up, Tom. I need to apply pressure."

Schofield brings her pack and sets it next to him.

"Grab the alcohol, the gauze, and the bandage wrap." The soldier is quick to begin rooting through the pack, pulling out the items that she requested. She holds her left hand out to grab the flask. "I need you to hold him down, okay?" Schofield nods, pushing Blake's shoulders back.

"What are you doing?" Blake asks, tears streaming down his face. "Let go of me! Get off!"

"This is for your good, Tom." Mags reassures him before pulling his button-up and undershirt up. Her eyes widen at the sight of the wound. A large gash on his abdomen practically gushes blood. He'd need stitches at the least. She didn't have that. Shaking away any negative thoughts, she begins to pour the alcohol onto the wound. He screams in pain, fighting against Schofield. Both Mags and Schofield blink away tears at their friend's pain.

Setting the flask to the side, she begins quickly placing gauze on the wound in an attempt to stifle the flow of blood. She grabs the bandaging and begins wrapping it around his waist. She has Schofield help her lift Blake when she needs to wrap it around his back. Her hands quickly place themselves against the wound as pressure. "I've done all I can do." Mags' gaze moves to Schofield. Her eyes hold no hope as she gently shakes her head.

"We need to stand up." Schofield suggests, nodding his head. "We're going to stand up." His arms attempt to pick Blake up.

As Blake shouts in pure pain, Mags stops them. "You're going to open the wound even more! Put him down." Schofield places his friend back on the field. His eyes stare ahead to the nurse, looking for any sort of hope that his friend could make it out alive. Her right hand reaches out, grabbing his own in a comforting manner. She once again shakes her head.

Blake's face grows paler by the second. It's not looking good for him, they think. "Just bring a doctor here." He suggests to the two above him.

"The nearest aid station is nearly five miles from here." Mags quietly informs them. "We wouldn't be back until night and we can't leave you alone. I wouldn't be able to protect you if Schofield went, and I wouldn't be able to make it without being gunned down if I went."

"Then we all go together." Schofield speaks. His arms wrap around Blake's shoulders. In an attempt to drag him, both Mags and Blake shout at him to stop. "So, what? We're not even going to try to help him?" He shouts as he sets Blake back down on the grass.

"I did my bloody best!"

"Well, your bloody best isn't good enough!" Schofield gestures towards his dying friend. "We need an actual doctor, not some stupid nurse they picked from a hat!"

"I'd like to see you try to do my job!"

"Will you two stop?" Blake croaked, his voice gravelly and rough. Mags and Schofield grew quiet. Their gaze falls to the drenched bandaging wrapped around him. "Just let me rest here." His voice comes out in a whisper. His tone is one of utter defeat.

Schofield shakes his head as tears threaten to fall from his eyes. "We can't. We have to find the Second. Remember?" Mags watches in complete sorrow as they talk. "Your brother, we have to go now."

"You can start on without me." Blake waves him off. "I'll catch up."

"You can't stay here." Schofield begins to move behind Blake once more. "We have to move, alright?"

"Don't you dare pick him up again, Will." Though her voice is quiet, her words speak volumes. "You're making his wound worse every time you try and pick him up."

A scoff escapes Schofield's lips as he shakes his head in disbelief. He drops to the ground, still holding Blake in his arms. "Your brother." He reminds his friend. "We have to find your brother."

Blake's breathing becomes jagged. It's clear he hasn't got much fight left in him. "You'll recognize him. Looks like me... just a bit older."

Schofield's eyes meet Mags'. They plea for help. Hers hold nothing but grief and pity. Behind the soldiers, the barn crackles as the flames begin to die out. The burnt wood begins caving in on itself. "What are they? Are we being shelled?" Blake asks, glancing up at the sky.

"The barn's collapsing." Mags answers, taking Blake's left hand in hers.

He squeezes it tightly. His gaze turns to her, and she can barely stomach seeing him in such an awful state. "I've been hit. What was it?"

"You were stabbed." Schofield answers for her.

Blake's eyes widen as his free hand begins searching for the wound. When his hand lands on Schofield's, it stops. His gaze turns back to Mags. "Am I dying?"

A fat tear drips down her cheek as she nods. "Afraid so." A sob racks her body. She couldn't hold it back much longer.

The young man nods slowly. The shock is quickly followed by sorrow. I'm actually dying, he thinks. But there was so much he wanted to do. Firstly, he wanted to hold his medal over his brother's head. Then, he wanted to finish his bottle cap necklace. Then, he wanted to take Mags and Schofield back to his mother's orchards and show them just how beautiful they could be. He wanted to go back home and meet a nice girl, fall in love, and have a family. But, he supposed, maybe that just wasn't in his cards.

His right hand reaches up and pats the pocket on his jacket. Schofield reaches over and pulls out a wallet. "This?" He asks.

"Inside." Blake responds, his voice growing weaker.

Schofield opens the wallet. Photos and a letter are folded up inside. He pulls out the photo of Blake's mother and his brother, Joe. Upon showing it to his friend, he nods. Schofield places the photo in Blake's hand before pressing it to his chest.

"Will you write to my mum for me?" Blake asks. Another soft sob shakes Mags' body.

"I will." Schofield nods.

"Tell her I wasn't scared."

He nods in response. A short silence fills the air, other than Mags' soft cries. "Anything else?"

"I love them." Blake whispers, a small smile on his face. "I wish that... I wish..." He trails off, the smile dropping. "Talk to me. Tell me you both know the way."

"We know the way." Schofield responds, his eyes glancing up to Mags, who's wiping away her tears. "We'll go southeast until we hit Écoust. We'll pass through the town and out to the east, all the way to Croisilles Wood."

"It'll be dark by then." Blake faintly speaks. His voice is near gone.

Both Mags and Schofield shake their heads. "That won't bother us. We'll find the Second Devons, we'll give them the message, and then I'll find your brother. Just like you, a little older."

They both stop when they realize that Blake has stopped breathing. His face is free of any pain or tension. The lines on his face have disappeared. Another sob racks through Mags' body as she squeezes Blake's now limp hand. Schofield looks up at Mags to see her utterly distraught. He'd be lying if he said it didn't surprise him. He watches her pull Blake's hand up and press a gentle kiss to the back of it.

Schofield begins rummaging through Blake's pockets in search for the letter from the General. Pulling the letter, he winces at the blood that stains half the page. He quickly stuffs it into his jacket pocket. His gaze moves back up to Mags, who simply stares at Blake's corpse, tears steadily streaming down her puffy and red cheeks. Pulling the map out of Blake's pocket, he tries to see through the blood that completely stains it, making it near illegible. With a huff, he tosses it to the side.

He leans over, pulling Blake's hand out of Mags'. Pulling the rings off of his fingers, he stuffs them into his jacket pocket. "What, we're looting his corpse now?" Mags scoffs, roughly wiping away the tears that trailed down her face. Her eyes look at him in pure disgust.

Schofield remains silent as he pulls off Blake's dogtags. "Help me lift him." He whispers as he pushes himself off the ground. His legs are weak and shaky. His arms wrap around Blake's as Mags wraps her arms around his legs. Together, they pick him up and carry him over to a small patch of long grass next to a pond. Blake is heavy, even with both of them pulling their weight.

Setting him down, Mags kneels next to Blake's body. She pulls out the blossom he had given her just an hour earlier. With a sniffle, she places the blossom in his hand. Behind her, Schofield gathers up her pack and his rifle. Her fingers wrap around the bottle cap necklace around Blake's neck and pulls it off. She quickly stuffs it into her jacket pocket before Schofield can return to her side.

"Grab his rifle." He instructs her.

"No."

"Mags, just grab the fucking rifle."

"Fuck off." She hisses. A sob escapes her lips as she rests her hand on Blake's still chest. "Why do I even need that blasted thing?"

"Because you'll need to defend yourself."

"I can't shoot."

"Looks like you'll need to learn quickly, then." He holds out the extra rifle towards her.

Her fingers gently wrap around the rifle. The item feels foreign in her hands. With one wrong move, she could kill herself or even Schofield.

"You two alright?" A voice grabs their attentions. Schofield spins around, his grip on his rifle tight. "It's alright. We're on the same side." The soldier chuckles. Two privates round the house. Their eyes move to the body next to Mags. "Jesus, what happened to him?" Both Schofield and Mags remain silent. "We saw the plane crash. Was that it?" Schofield simply nods.

"Go fetch his things." Another voice speaks. Both privates agree before moving to grab Blake's helmet. "Was he a friend?" The man asks. Both Mags and Schofield nod in response. "What are you two doing here?"

"I have an urgent message for the Second Devons. Orders are to stop tomorrow morning's attack." Schofield explains.

"Where are they stationed?" The man asks.

"Just beyond Écoust."

The man's eyes turn to Mags. "And you're with him, I presume?" She nods, remaining silent. "Alright then, come with me." He turns and begins moving back towards the house. Both Mags and Schofield remain by Blake's side. They couldn't leave him like this. Couldn't they, at least, bury him? "Come with me, Corporal, Nurse. That's an order." Schofield simply looks up at the man. "We're heading through Écoust. We can take both of you some of the way."

"Sir." Schofield responds quietly. He pushes himself off of the ground and holds Mags' pack out to her. "We have to go." His voice is gentle and quiet. Shaking her head, she pushes the pack away. Tears continue to spill down her cheeks as she refuses to move from Blake's side. It feels like betrayal, that she should stay with him as long as she could. "Mags-" His hand begins to squeeze her shoulder before she shoves him back.

"Fuck off! We can't just fucking leave him like this!" Her shouts surprise the soldiers nearby. If she weren't so angry, she'd have been embarrassed for acting so childish. But she didn't care. "I don't want him here, rotting next to some fucking dog and some fucking German piece of shit!"

"He was my best friend!" Schofield shouts back. Their glares are sharp towards each other. "How do you think I feel, huh? He was my best fucking friend and I loved him! Who are you? You're just some fucking nurse they threw us with! You didn't even know him."

"At least I'm not willing to leave him at some bum fuck, middle of nowhere farm where that fucker stabbed him." Pushing herself off of the ground, she moves quick to shove him back.

"Don't fucking touch me." He snaps as he shoves her. Stumbling, her feet catch against Blake's stiff ones. Her body slams against the hard ground.

With a soft sigh, she looks over at Blake. She already misses him. If he were here, they wouldn't be fighting like this. He would've stopped the fight before it had even started. But he wasn't there. He was dead. He was rotting as they stood there. Pushing herself up on the ground, she pulled her knees up against her body. Tears spill down her cheeks as she hugs her legs tightly.

Approaching her, Schofield crouched in front of her. His hands rested on top of her knees, grabbing her attention. "Mags, we have to go. If we don't then he died for no reason at all. His brother will die and so will yours, if we don't get there on time." It almost hurt him to see her bloodshot eyes glance between him and his friend. Letting out a deep sigh, she roughly wiped away her tears.

She nods and slowly pushes herself off of the ground. Her fingers wrap around the strap of the bag. "You ready?" He asks.

"As I'll ever be." Mags wipes away the tears that had yet to dry and follows Schofield and the captain.


	9. nine.   happiest days of our lives

HER SHOULDER COLLIDED WITH THE SOLDIER NEXT TO HER. His glare at her was sharp and angry. She mumbled an apology before turning her gaze across from her. Schofield stares down at his hands. They're shakier than she had ever seen them - even shakier than after the bunker. She wants to say something, anything, to comfort him, but she knows her words are fruitless. After all, she was a stranger he had met mere hours ago; Blake had been his best friend for who knows how long.

His eyes meet hers. He's holding back tears. Her eyes hold nothing but grief and sorrow and maybe a bit of pity for him. There was a thick tension between the two. The horrid words they had shared were now ingrained in their minds and hearts. He wants to apologize but his stubbornness won't allow it.

An arm nudges her. Mags looks over to see a soldier holding out a whiskey bottle. She takes it with a grateful smile and quickly downs a bit. Wincing at the sting, she holds the bottle out in front of her. Her eyes look down at the bottle cork in her hand. "You mind if I keep this?" She asks the soldier next to her. He shrugs in response.

Holding out the bottle to Schofield, she offers a small smile. His eyes dart between her and the bottle. Reaching out, he takes it and mumbles his thanks. He quickly downs a small bit, leaving half of the bottle full. "So, what's your name, pretty lady?" The soldier to her right asks as a suggestive smirk grows on her lips. He leans his elbow on his knee.

"Margaret." She responds. Her hand clenches around the cork in her hand. The ridged and hardened edges dig into her hand.

"Well, Margaret," he chuckles, "let me know what aid station you're posted at so I can request a transfer."

"You try that on all the nurses you talk to?" Her eyebrows furrow as her arms cross over her chest. Maybe if she hadn't just lost a friend, she'd be more in the mood to flirt. If Blake were here, he'd probably tell this guy to fuck off. But he wasn't here. He was back at the farmhouse, rotting by the dead dog.

The men around them all chuckle as a faint blush forms on the man's cheeks. "Only the beautiful ones."

Schofield watches the interaction. He can tell Mags isn't into it. He wants to say something, but he can't find his voice. Once again, her eyes find his. They plea for help. That was all he needed. "Lay off her, mate." He finally speaks.

"Excuse me?" The soldier asks, pushing himself in a more upright position.

"She's clearly not into it."

"And who are you? Her boyfriend?" A few of the men chuckle in response.

"And if I am?"

Mags tenses up at the argument. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the soldier scoff before turning back to her. "Is this lad your boyfriend?"

"And if he is?" She sends a pointed look his way.

"You can do better."

"And you think that's what you are, Butler?" Another soldier jokes, erupting the entire truck into laughter. Both Mags, Schofield, and Private Butler are the only ones not laughing.

A soldier hits Butler on the arm. "Carry on with that story from earlier, mate."

"Oh, yeah..." Butler begins retelling a story he had been telling his friends before Mags and Schofield had joined. She refuses to listen to anything out of the man's mouth.

An arm from her left nudges her faintly. A man in a turban smiles at her as he holds a cigarette out to her. "Ignore him. Actually, ignore all of them. Who knows how long it's been since they've seen a woman - let alone talked to one." They both chuckle as she accepts the cigarette. He lights a match and lights the cigarette. "So, where're you two heading off to?"

"Top secret mission." Mags holds her index finger up to her lips before placing the cigarette between her lips. "We're supposed to stop an attack from the Second Devons tomorrow morning. Well, he is." Her head nodded towards Schofield. "I think I'm just along for the ride, at this point."

"Why do you say that?"

She shrugs her shoulders in response. "I'm just a nurse, y'know. I can't shoot a gun, and I can't fight. The only thing I can do is wrap a wound."

"That's more than these sorry chaps can do."

"But you all can fight and defend yourselves." She took another deep puff of her cigarette.

He lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Everyone's got their thing. If we had a world full of soldiers, there'd be no love." Taking a drag from his cigarette, he let out a sigh. "You're strong, whether you believe it or not. I see it in you."

Her eyes move up to look at him. Did he really think so highly of her? He didn't even know her. How could he speak so highly of her without even knowing her? Tears began to well up in her eyes. Mags was quick to blink them away. Never, in her life, had she heard someone speak so genuinely of her. Taking another drag of the cigarette, she begins listening in to to conversation, chuckling as each man gives their impression of their captain.

Schofield watches her, his hands flexing before tightening into fists. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out the blue tobacco tin. He quickly glances inside before placing it back in his pocket. "You mind if we switch, mate?" Mags asks the soldier sitting next to Schofield. The man nods before switching places with the nurse. "You want a drag?" She holds out the cigarette between her middle and index finger.

He simply nods, grabbing the cigarette and taking a deep drag. He tries to feel at ease as the tobacco fills his lungs, but he just can't. How could she even smile after what they had just been through? His best friend had just died in their arms not an hour ago and she was sharing smiles with the soldier in the turban. He couldn't help but feel a bit angry at her for it. As he hands the cigarette back to the nurse, he feels that anger quickly dissipate. "We'd get further if we walked." He mumbles to her, eliciting a giggle from her.

"We'd probably smell better if we walked, too." She whispered to him. A small smile grows on Schofield's lips, not quite reaching his eyes. "Do you want to see my family?" Her question caught him off guard. It was an intimate question, in terms of how little they had known each other. "It won't hurt my feelings if you say no." She takes another puff from her cigarette.

Inhaling the smell of the tobacco, he nods. "I'd love to." He can tell she's trying to distract him. She wants to distract him from the death they had just witnessed and the heated argument they had just had. Her hands are just as shaky as his. Was that pilot her first intentional kill? Blood still stains her hands. It's a mixture of hers, the pilot's, and Blake's. It's dried enough to look a deep brown. He watches her reach into her inner breast pocket and pull out a small stack of photos.

The first one is one of two men standing side by side, staring into the camera with stoic expressions. "That's my brother," she points to the young man with dark hair, "and that's my father," her finger points to the older man. The two look nothing like her. Maybe she took after her mother - the mother that had told her to never return. "Alex here is fighting with the Second Devons. I hope he's still there. We promised to write letters, but I guess we both got busy. There is a war going on and whatnot." She shrugs her delicate shoulders.

Flipping to the second photo, it reveals the entire family of five. "There's my older sister, Eliza," she points to the girl with a deep frown on her lips, "there's my mother," she points to the older woman above her sister, "and there's me," she finally points to herself. Mags is a near spitting image of her mother. From the light hair to the constantly furrowed eyebrows, she was her mother, through and through. "Eliza and I look just like Mum." She mumbles, taking in the photo. She's not sure what to feel when she sees it. Part of her missed her family dearly, but another part of her detested it. She loathed her mother's treatment of her and her sister's ever so doting attitude and her brother's obliviousness and her... Her train of thought trailed off when her father popped into her mind. She missed him. It's bad luck to speak ill of the dead, her brother had told her.

"You do." Schofield spoke, pulling her out of her daydream. "Not in the eyes, though."

She chuckled. "How can you even know what color her eyes are?"

"You look more lively, more happy than her."

Her chuckle stopped short when his sentence had left his lips. She stared up at him with her doe eyes, confused. "You don't even know her."

"I don't need to know her, I just need to know you." His fingers reached out to take the almost finished cigarette from her hand. As he let the smoke dissipate in the air, he handed the stick back to the nurse. "I'm glad you're with me, Mags. I shouldn't have said the things I did. I didn't mean them-"

"Don't worry about it." She shook her head, waving him off. Taking one last drag from the cigarette, she snuffs it against the seat of the truck. "Water under the bridge, right?"

He slowly nods. Glancing up at her, he lets out a soft sigh. "I mean it, though. I'm glad you're with me."

"'Til my dying breath-" She was cut off as the entire truck lurches violently. She grunts as her body collides with Schofield's. The tires can be heard spinning outside of the truck. The entire engine groans in frustration. The engine revs louder, sinking the truck even deeper into the mud.

Schofield simply nods as he stands up. The soldier next to him mumbles that the driver needs lessons. They all watch as Schofield hops out of the truck and onto the muddy ground beneath them. Pushing herself out of her seat, she follows suit. The entire back right wheel is halfway submerged in the thick mud. "Maybe walking would be better." She mumbles under her breath. Glancing around the truck, she notices a large tree trunk blocking the road.

"He should reverse." Schofield speaks, grabbing all of their attentions. The soldier next to him agrees, but stays seated. With a scoff, Schofield walks around the truck to instruct the driver to put the truck in reverse. He quickly returns to the back as the entire truck cranks into reverse. The wheel spins, but it merely sinks deeper. "No, stop! Stop!" He shouts at the driver, who idles the truck. "Everyone needs to get out." He tells all of the soldiers in the back of the truck.

A few soldiers obey, standing to their feet and jumping out. Others stay seated. "All out!" Schofield shouts at them. They aren't moving fast enough for his likes. "Come on!"

Private Butler scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Alright, alright. Keep your bloody hair on." He mumbles as he jumps out of the truck.

A few soldiers ready themselves behind the truck with Schofield, ready to push. "Right. One, two, three." They all begin to push. The truck refuses to move. Schofield continues to push. Mags winces, knowing that him using this much energy wouldn't do them any good. All of the soldiers fall slack, knowing it is a fruitless act.

"We need to get some wood to put under the wheels." One soldier suggests.

"No!" Schofield shouts, surprising them all. "We haven't got the time!" He returns to the back of the truck and begins pushing. "We all need to push! Come on!" His eyes land on Mags, who takes the hint and joins him in pushing the truck. She knows she can't be much help, but every hand counts. None of the other soldiers join them, watching in confusion and annoyance. "Please. I have to go now! Please." His voice is full of desperation and grief.

They can all hear it. They can all recognize it. They've been there before. And Lord knows what these two had just been through. They all begin to fall in line and push against the truck. Private Butler cheers them on as they all push to the best of their abilities. "One last push!" He shouts as they all push with all of their might.

The truck finally lifts out of the mud. The wheels are free and now they are free. A collective sigh of relief escapes them all as they move away from the vehicle. Schofield falls forward into the mud. Mags is quick to crouch next to him. "You shouldn't have used that much energy. This dumb truck's bound to get stuck again in twenty minutes." Her eyes scan over him for any injuries. Part of her knows he isn't injured, but it's become a habit. Looking closely at him, she can tell he's trying not to cry. "It's okay, Will."

"I wish he hadn't chosen me." He whispers, almost too quiet for her to hear.

Her hand gently rubs his back. "But he did. And we're going to finish it and give Erinmore a big middle finger, yeah?" She presses a soft kiss to his temple.

He simply nods, unable to say anything else. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her stand up and hold a hand out to him. "Let's get back in." He tells the men. They all watch the two with wary eyes. "You heard me, let's go." The soldiers comply and begin piling back into the truck.

"Here, driver, how about you try to keep it on the bloody road for a change!" The soldier that had sat next to Schofield shouted.

"Piss off!" The driver responded with a middle finger out of the window.

Schofield and Mags are the last to climb into the truck. The entire truck is silent. All eyes are on them. A blush would form on her cheeks if she weren't so focused on Schofield. Was he even mentally fit to finish this mission? Probably not, but who else could do it? If they didn't do it, then Blake died for no reason other than stupidity.

Her left hand gently reached out, barely grazing his own hand. He takes initiative and intertwines their pinkies together. He just needs some sort of human contact and comfort.

"So," Private Butler breaks the silence, "where are you going?"

"We're going to the Second Devons. Just past Écoust." Mags answers, sensing that Schofield is in no mood for conversation.

"Why?"

"They're attacking at dawn. We've got orders to stop 'em."

"How come?" Another soldier speaks up.

"It's a trap." Schofield's voice is quiet, but it speaks volumes to the men.

"How many?" A soldier asks.

"Sixteen hundred."

All of the soldiers freeze. They're in shock. That's a death sentence for their men, their friends, their brothers. "Jesus." One whispers as he shakes his head.

"Why'd they send just you and a nurse?" Private Butler asks, receiving a glare from the said nurse. "I meant no offense, it's just an odd combination."

"There was another. She was here to make sure we didn't die." Her eyes dart to Schofield. Nothing about his tone or appearance holds hostility, but she can't help but feel the sting of his words.

"Where's the other?"

"Dead." Both he and Mags answer in unison.

"So, it's just you two?" Butler asks. They both nod. "You'll never make it."

"Blow it out your arse, Butler." Mags snaps. Her glare is sharp and furious. Fuck him. They were going to make it whether it killed them or not. But they wouldn't if they kept arguing as quickly as the two did. Nearly every word they shared was a roll of the dice on whether it would be pleasant or quickly devolve into angry arguments. They would have to talk things over sooner or later, but that was something for another time.

"Can you believe these are the happiest days of our lives?" One of the soldiers speaks up. She believes his name is Private Cooke. They all turn to him with confused looks. "Our teens and twenties are supposed to be full of life and vigor, but we're spending it shooting other teens and twenties."

The truck grows eerily silent. They can't argue with him. Everyone spoke on how happy and fun your early twenties were, and there they were, spending it surrounded by violence and death. Mags pulls the whiskey cork out of her pants pocket. She takes in every holes, every groove, and every missing piece. She just needed a corkscrew to get it onto the string necklace. Blake would like this, she thought. If he were here, he'd probably make a joke to lighten the mood. But he wasn't here. He was dead, and they needed to move on. No time for grief in war, Lieutenant Leslie had told her. But she refused to be so cold and closed off to the world. And she refused to let Schofield become that way too. She promised herself to keep him afloat for as long as she could. It was her duty as a nurse, and as a human.


	10. ten.   waiting for the worms

THE TRUCK CREAKED TO A STOP. Both Schofield and Mags share looks. They're both on edge.

"Bridge is down!" The driver shouts towards the back.

Mags' pinkie tightens against Schofield's. Panic begins to settle in her veins. How will they get to Écoust on time now? The sun had begun to set, leaving them only a handful of hours to report to the colonel of the Second Devons to stop the attack. "End of the line." She mutters under her breath.

"Looks like this is our stop, then." Schofield pushes himself out of the seat. Mags is quick to repeat his actions. Slinging her pack and Blake's rifle strap over her shoulders, she follows him out of the truck. "Good luck, all of you."

"Keep some of that luck for yourselves, mate." Private Rossi calls out to them.

Sepoy Jondalar climbs out of the truck. He digs through his jacket pocket and pulls out a tobacco tin. "I think you'll need these more than me." Setting the tin in her hand, he offers her a kind smile. "I hope we meet again, Margaret." Tears brim at her eyes as she flings her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. She pulls back after a fleeting moment, blinking away the tears that threatened to slip down her puffy cheeks. He climbs back into the truck, nodding a final goodbye to Mags.

The captain that had found them earlier approaches the two. "Next bridge is six miles. We'll have to divert."

Schofield shakes his head. "We can't, Sir. We don't have the time."

"Of course." The captain nods. Holding his hand out, he gives a small smile. "Best of luck to both of you." After shaking Schofield's hand, the man turns to shake Mags'. "Keep this man alive, Nurse."

"'Til my dying breath." She smiles as she shakes his hand.

"That's what I like to hear." The captain chuckles. He turns to leave them, but stops in his tracks. "Corporal, if you do manage to get to Colonel Mackenzie, make sure you've got more witnesses than the nurse."

Both the soldier and the nurse furrow their brows. "They're direct orders, Sir."

"I know," he speaks, his eyes turning grim, "but some men just want the fight."

They both nod. "Thank you, Sir." Schofield nods as the captain turns and leaves. He yells a few instructions to the driver. The two watch as the trucks drive off. The soldiers gaze at the two as they slowly grow further and further. His arm nudges Mags'. "Let's get a move on. Can't waste anymore time than we already have."

Turning to the broken bridge, they stare in curiosity. Halfway through the bridge, it's blown up and caved into the water below. How were they supposed to get across? Perhaps they could climb on the side. Or maybe even walk across the top? Both slowly approach it. This would be a bad time for her to tell him that she never learned how to swim. Maybe the water wasn't that deep. It didn't look too deep. Maybe waist high. She stares down as her hands wring together.

"Just follow close behind me." Schofield instructs her as he begins climbing onto the broken bridge. His movements are slow and careful, attempting to maintain his balance on the bars of the bridge. "You doing alright back there?" He calls back, glancing at Mags.

She remains at the edge of the bar. She refuses to move. Her mind screams at her to move, but her body refuses. "I..." She trails off, staring down at the murky water. "I don't think I can do this!" She calls out. "I just..."

"What do you mean?" He asks, stopping and still balancing as the bars begin to dip down towards the water. "Just walk slowly. If you fall, just grab onto the bars."

"Will," her eyes dart up, tears brimming them. "I can't do this, Will."

"I know you can, Maggie."

Her eyes widen. Only Alex had called her that. She balled her fists, her arms remaining at her sides. Maggie... She could do this. If she thought hard enough, she could hear her brother cheering her on. Sticking her left foot in front of her right, she began slowly making her way towards Schofield. Glancing up, she catches sight of plumes of smoke in the distance. It was the city of Écoust, still on fire. Taking a shaky breath, she finally catches up to Schofield.

"We have to jump across, okay?"

She shakes her head viciously. "No way in hell can I make that."

"We have to or else we'll just be stuck here."

Her hands reach up to rub her warm cheeks. She's still shaking her head. Thoughts swirl her mind. I can't do this, she thinks to herself, I'm not brave like him. More tears begin to build up in her eyes. Mags mentally scolds herself. Stop being such a crybaby, she yells at herself, but it's not her voice; it's her mother's. She stops all movement. Anger begins to seep into her pores at the mere thought of the wretched woman that raised her. "Okay," she nods, "fuck it."

Schofield readies himself to jump when a loud crack startles them. A spark erupts from the metal under their feet. Shots fired. He leaps, barely catching himself on the bars of the bridge. Mags takes another shaky breath before jumping. Her fingers catch onto the bars before quickly slipping off. She shouts in panic as she falls into the water. Adrenaline fills her. This was not how she had planned on meeting her maker - especially not in the middle of a godforsaken war. Her hands reach up out of the water, desperately searching for anything to pull her afloat.

Her lungs begin to burn. She can't inhale; to inhale was to drown. Her hands frantically search for something, anything. A hand wraps into hers, pulling her above water. With a loud gasp, she inhales. Another crack startles them as another spark erupts from the metal to their left. "Grab onto the bars!" Schofield shouts as he pulls her closer to the bridge.

Mags wraps her arms around the bars. She pulls herself through the water towards the concrete canal. Another crack and there's a splash in the water to Mags' right. She stops for a beat before moving faster towards the ground. Schofield is closely in front of her. They both climb onto the concrete at the same time. A chunk of the concrete quickly spatters up into the air after another shot.

The two run towards the steps of the canal, hiding behind the small wall as shelter. "There should still be ten rounds in his rifle." Schofield informs Mags. "I've only got eight so if I can't get him, you need to."

"I never learned how to shoot."

"Just aim and pull the trigger."

As she inspects the weapon, her finger accidentally pulls the trigger, firing the gun towards the air. Curses slip from her mouth. "I'm so sorry. Fuck." Mags hisses as she pulls her finger away from the trigger. "Just aim and shoot, got it."

Shaking his head with a sigh, Schofield turns his attention back to the building that held the sniper. With a quick and shaky breath, he pushes himself out from behind the cover and fires towards the large window. He fires. Another shot goes off, chipping the concrete directly to his right. He's quick to duck behind the cover and reload his round. Mags watches and repeats the action, knocking the empty shell onto the ground below.

He pushes himself up from cover once more, firing again. After ducking behind cover, he reloads and takes a moment to compose himself. It's quiet. Did he get him? Only one way to find out. He pushes up again, firing towards the building before ducking. Silence still.

"Did you get him?" Mags whispers.

He shrugs his shoulders before slowly moving up the steps. Mags is closely behind him. Their rifles are aimed and ready at their sides. As they begin quickly moving towards the building, they revel in the silence. Maybe the sniper was just waiting for them to come inside. Schofield pushes the door open, leading the way inside.

There's no movement on the ground floor. Not even a mouse stirs among the rubble. There's a staircase ahead of them. Holding his hand out, he silently tells her to drag behind a bit. Mags does as she is told, creating some distance between the two. He holds his breath as he silently climbs the stairs, still crouching. His rifle is aimed as he makes it up the second set of steps. A door is directly in front of him. He nears it with a soft and jagged breath. Pushing the door open with the barrel of his rifle, both he and the German soldier fire at the same time. Everything goes black.

Mags' eyes widen as Schofield's body collapses down the stairs in front of her. Her right hand covers her mouth to prevent a scream. She wants to cry. Is he dead? Her eyes squint to get a better look. His chest barely moves. He's still alive. She readies her rifle and slowly moves past her friend and up the stairs. Glancing past the door, she catches sight of the dead German sniper. She quickly drops her rifle and runs down the stairs to kneel next to Schofield. Hot, fat tears slide down her cheeks as she checks his pulse. It's there, but faint.

A pool of blood is slowly forming underneath his head. "Shit." She whispers as she gently pulls him upright. Pulling his body against hers, she struggles to pull herself to her feet. Her shaky feet begin to climb the stairs backwards, her grip on him tight. Her left foot slips on the second step, sending her back slamming against the stairs with a sharp pain. "Fuck!" She shouts in frustration. This can't be it. This won't be it.

Mags pushes herself back up, pulling Schofield up with her. Her feet slowly make their way up the rest of the staircase. Dragging him over to a wall, she sets him down as gently as she can. Frantic hands dig through her pack. The last roll of bandages in her pack. A dull ache forms in her bicep. Reaching back, she winces as her hand comes in contact with the warm and sticky blood that drips from her cut that had managed to reopen. Cursing, she ignores it and unfurls the roll of bandages and the small pack of gauze.

She places the gauze on the wound and begins to wrap the bandage around Schofield's head. Almost immediately, the bandage begins to soak up the blood that oozes from the back of his head. After finishing, she lets her body slump against the wall, Schofield's unconscious body leaning against her right side. His head rests against her shoulder and his back is tucked up against her side. Her arms wraps around him as she presses her head against the top of his. Tears immediately begin falling from her eyes. Stop crying, her mother's voice repeats. No, her brother's voice now, cry as much as you can; it's the only thing that separates us from the bad guys.

"Please don't die, Will." She sobs. Her body shakes violently as she lets loose the tears and sorrow she had bottled up over the past day. "I can't do this by myself. I'm not like you or Blake, I can't... I'm not brave. I'm scared. I'm just so scared." She cries against his matted hair. "I have to make it back to my brother, I need to know if he's alive. And I need you to meet him. He's going to want to know all about the man who saved my arse multiple times in one day." She lets out a humorless chuckle. "Or the one I've constantly bickered with."

Shaking her head, she lifts her head and leans it against the brick wall behind her. "You're just so difficult. One moment, I feel like we've known each other for years and the next, we're bickering like schoolchildren." Mags scoffs. She sounds insane. Her mind wanders back to Blake. A soft sigh escapes her lips. "I wish he was here. He'd know what to do. He'd probably shake you awake and get us on the move, all while telling some stupid story in his 'I know I'm right' voice." She laughs.

Glancing out, she notices that it's nearly completely dark outside. The sun has set; only a sliver of light is seen beyond the hills. They should leave, but all she can do is wait - wait for the worms to take over them. "I'm sorry about Blake. I'm sorry that Erinmore chose me. Hell, you both'd been better off without me. I've been nothing but a nuisance this entire trip. I know it, too. I just..." She trails off as her fingers gently run through his curls. "I don't know. Maybe I was in over my head when I signed up for this whole thing. But if I hadn't, then I'd have never met you or Blake or Leslie or Amelia or Jondalar. I'd still be at home, or hitched up with some boring man who only likes me because I can give him babies."

Her lip trembles. No, they had to make it out of here. "God, Will, I can't do this on my own!" She exclaims as the tears slip down her face. "I need you. I need you to sit here and tell me I'm being stupid and I need you to argue with me and I need you to help me and I just need you."

"And?" A rough voice whispers. She almost doesn't hear it, but she does.

"Will?"

"Keep going."

"What do you mean?"

"I know that's not all you need me for."

Mags almost punches him in that moment. She might have if she weren't so overcome with joy that he was still alive. "You're a fucking prick, you know that?" Letting out a laugh of relief, she holds him tightly in her arms. "Fuck you, you fucking arsehole. I thought you were fucking dead and I thought I was going to be stuck here and I thought-"

"I'm fine." He mumbles, almost leaning into her hug. It feels nice and warm and welcoming against the cold world that surrounds them. His eyes droop as his head rests against her shoulder. Glancing out of the window, his eyes quickly widen. "What time is it?"

"I'm not sure. I lost my watch a few months back in a guy's stomach."

Looking down at his watch, he curses at the broken hands. "We need to leave."

"You've got a major head wound, Sco."

"We don't have the time, Mags!" He pushes himself out of her grasp. Stumbling, he grabbed his rifle and slung the strap over his shoulder. "Let's go! Come on!"

Mags pushes herself up off of the ground. Her legs are sore and her left bicep stings. She slings the straps of her pack and the rifle over her shoulders. They both look out of the window as a flare lights up the night sky. Germans. "Sco, you and I are in no shape to outrun them."

"We have to try."

"And we'll die!"

"That's better than sitting here like cows waiting for slaughter!"

She lets out a defeated sigh. She's too tired to argue. Her hands reach up and rub her face. "I'm not going to fight you on this."

His hands reach out and grab her wrists. "Listen to me," her eyes look up, meeting his gaze, "I don't care what you or your mother think, you are brave. You can do this - with or without me. You're the bravest person I know. I wish you saw that." With that, he pulls her towards the staircase.

"Do you really think that?" She stops him.

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it."

Nodding, she glances down at his hand still wrapped around her wrist. "Okay. Lead the way."


	11. eleven.   is there anybody out there?

SHE STARED UP AT THE FLARES THAT LIT UP THE NIGHT SKY. Her heart hammered against her rib cage as she glanced back and forth to each side of them. Broken buildings surround them at every angle. The light of the flare creates shadows, playing tricks on their eyes - especially to a barely conscious Schofield. He gives a rough blink, trying to force his eyes to focus. He can't lead them if he can't see. Memories of the bunker flood his mind. His arms tightly wrapped around his friends as they practically carried him out of the collapsing bunker. He trusted them, and now one of them was dead. But she was still here, still fighting. And she trusted him, he knew it.

"What's the plan?" She whispers. Her grip on Blake's rifle is tight, but her finger remains far from the trigger.

"We have to go through." He whispers back. Waving his hand, he begins stumbling out of the lock house. With a huff of air, she quickly follows beside him. She watches him from her peripheral, making sure he doesn't fall to the ground. The shadows around them shift and move as the flare falls to the ground. He winces as the light reflects from the puddles, almost blinding him.

A crack erupts from behind them. Both nearly jump out of their boots. "We need a new plan." Mags exclaims as they begin to pick up their pace. They're sitting ducks in an open field. Buildings may surround them, but they're walking directly through, what used to be, a street. His hand grabs hers, pulling her as they begin to run. Another gunshot fires behind them, clipping the building to their left.

The flare finally dies out, plunging them into complete darkness. Their breathing is the only sound filling the air. Their boots pound against the wet ground. Schofield's boot splashes into a puddle, attracting another gunshot. Shortly after, another flare is fired into the air, illuminating their way. "We need cover!" She exclaims through gasps of air.

The moment the sentence leaves her lips, he pulls her against a wall to their right. "Get down as far as you can." He whispers, pushing them closer against the wall into the darkness. Shots clip the ground where they had just been running. Her hands grip the back of his jacket tightly. Her knuckles quickly become sore from the sheer might of her grip. They remain motionless. He can feel her chest heaving against his back. They needed this short break or else one of them was going to pass out - probably him.

His vision blurs and distorts. Reaching up, he rubs his eyes. This makes his vision only blurrier. "Are you okay?" She quietly whispers; it's low enough that he almost didn't hear it. He nods in response. Looking out in the direction they had been running, he tries to memorize the path. "I need you to tell me if you're okay, Sco."

"As soon as the flare goes out, we run." He whispers back to her. "Don't stop running, no matter what. If I get shot, you don't stop-"

"What-"

"Don't question me!" His whisper is rough. "Just listen, okay? You don't listen and that's your problem. Just fucking listen to me for once." Mags fell silent, her gaze dropping to the rubble she rested on. His gaze softened as guilt began to settle in his bones. "Just... I need you to get there, even if I don't. We can't let Blake die for nothing." She simply nodded. Her grip on her pack tightened.

The flare finally fell to the earth, plunging the area in darkness. "Now." He whispered as they pushed themselves off of the ground. They immediately took off down the street, stopping at nothing. Another flare was shot into the air, but that didn't stop them. His hand reaches out, grabbing her arm and pulling her into an alley to their left. Darkness fills the alley, slowing them down to catch their breath once again. His hand doesn't leave hers - it only tightens.

There's a flickering light at the end of the alley. They follow it down to the edge of the alley where it opens into another broken street. Mags leans her back against the wall to her left. Her hand tightens around Schofield's, grabbing his attention. "I need to know a plan. I can't just keep running through this godforsaken place, praying neither of us get shot. I need a plan, Sco."

Running his free hand through his hair, he stops to feel the bandage against his forehead. "What happened? Did I get shot?" His fingers trace the bandage to the back of his head. As his fingers graze the base of his skull, he winces at the sharp pain.

"No. Well... Yes, technically. It hit your helmet." She shrugs her shoulders, exhausted beyond belief. "I think you cracked something when you fell down those stairs. You looked so..." She trailed off, staring down at their intertwined hands.

"It doesn't matter." Schofield reassured her. "I know you want a plan, but... I don't have one. All that keeps going through my head is to run. So, that's what we're going to do."

With a deep sigh, Mags nods. She's too tired to argue with him. And she's much too tired to come up with a better plan. It's as good as they've got and she'll live with it... Maybe.

Turning his head out of the alley, he takes in the surroundings. To their left is nothing but a stretch of broken buildings with smashed windows. To their left is something large and on fire. Neither sight is welcoming. Had he led her into a trap? Was he just leading her to her death? He doesn't have time to dwell on it. He begins pulling her out of the alley to the left.

They begin carefully making their way through the street. Her eyes widen at the fire ahead of them. "This is really the way you chose, huh?" Mags can't help but chuckle as they make their way past the broken columns from the buildings.

As they grow closer, she notices it's a church. She stops in her tracks, surprising Schofield. "They set a fucking church on fire. Who... Who does that?" Her voice comes out as a whisper.

"Monsters." He responds stoically. "We have to keep moving, Mags. We can't stop." Pulling her along, they enter the centre of the square. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a silhouette. A man enters the centre, a rifle in his grip. His grip on Mags' hand tightens infinitely. She turns and freezes, her breath catching in her throat. The man raises his rifle for a moment before letting it drop. Quickly, he begins making his way towards them. Schofield and Mags remain frozen as the man makes his way closer to them. Is he British or German?

The question is answered as the man raises his rifle once again and fires at them. The shot ricochets off of the wall next to them. "Go!" Mags shouts, pushing Schofield into the small set of columns to their left. They run as fast as their feet can take them. The soldier fires again, hitting one of the columns. The German soldier shouts after them, pulling any enemy attention towards them.

"There!" Mags exclaims, pointing at the small window that been boarded up to their left. It's against the ground, but a small light flickers inside. They skid to a stop. He pushes her to the ground, pushing her into the small cellar window before quickly flinging himself after.

The two fall to the ground with a thud. Mags groans quietly, rubbing the back of her neck with her right hand. "Fuck." She hisses as her bicep begins to burn. A thick and warm fluid begins dripping down her arm. Without feeling, she knows her cut as reopened. Letting out a soft sigh, she slumps against the rough ground.

"Are you okay?" Schofield quietly asks, leaning over her. "What happened?" His eyes adjust to the darkness to notice the blood slowly dripping onto the ground beneath her. "Are you hurt?"

"It's just a cut." She waves him off. "That German fucker from the farm did it."

"Why didn't you bandage it?"

"Figured we'd need that last roll for something more important." She nodded towards his head. "Looks like we should trust my gut more often."

"It's going to get infected."

"Nothing I can't handle." Mags flashes a cocky smile as she slowly pushes herself into a sitting position. Schofield scoffs and rolls his eyes. Only she would be able to make a joke in their situation. His gaze snaps up to a young girl hiding behind a curtain that's been hung from the ceiling. Mags' gaze follows. She quickly slides up on her hands, grabbing the rifle to her right.

The girl ducks behind the curtain, scared of them.

"Don't." Schofield whispers to Mags.

Mags gently sets the rifle back onto the ground. The girl peeks out once again to see Schofield's hands held in a surrender. She speaks something in French. It sounds desperate and pleading. "Anglais." Schofield responds. "Not German. We're friends." The girl visibly relaxes. Schofield takes in his surroundings. "This place, it's Écoust?" He clears his throat. "C'est Écoust?"

The girl nods.

"You speak French?" Mags asks, a chuckle following her question. "Every day's a school day."

Schofield stumbles slightly. He almost falls into Mags. A dull pain fills his head. The girl asks something in French. "Others? No, just us." The girl's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Just. Us." He gestures between himself and Mags. She slowly nods, understanding.

Mags pushes herself off of the ground, eliciting a flinch from the girl. With a soft smile, Mags approaches the table to the girl's left. Her hand wraps around the neck of a whiskey bottle. "You mind if I keep this cork?" The girl clearly doesn't understand the question. "Thank you very much, dear." She chuckles before taking a swig from the bottle.

"You shouldn't just take that." Schofield slowly pushes himself off of the ground, stumbling a bit.

"It's not like she's old enough to drink this anyway." Mags takes another large swig. She crams the cork into her pants pocket where it will sit with the other cork from the truck. "Don't look at me like that." She jabs her index finger towards Schofield.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a fucking German." Her tone is filled with venom. Her eyes glare up at him with pure anger.

Rolling his eyes, he holds his hands up. "I'm not going to argue with you, especially not now."

"Oh, really? You'll argue with me every other fucking time." She takes another swig. In just moments, she's downed almost half of the bottle. "You argued with me when I wouldn't drink your stupid milk, or when Blake was dying. You argue with me at the worst fucking times, so this should be perfect for you!"

"Keep your fucking voice down."

"Or what?" She takes a step closer. Her hands reach out to shove him back.

"They're going to come in here and shoot all of us, that's what." He snaps back, swatting her hand away. With a roll of her eyes, she backs up against the wall. The nurse slides down the wall, taking a seat on the floor. She takes another swig of whiskey. Schofield approaches her, taking a seat next to her. His eyes turn to the French girl who watches them with glazed eyes. He can tell she has no idea what's going on - she doesn't know if she should pick a side.

"I'm sorry." Mags whispers, wiping away a tear that slipped down her cheek.

"You shouldn't be."

"Not for shoving you," She chuckled, taking another swig before handing it towards the soldier, "for Blake. I should've been watching that fucking pilot. I should've seen the knife. I should've done a billion other things differently... but I didn't. I did what I did and I got him killed."

"No." Schofield shakes his head as he takes a swig from the bottle of whiskey. "It wasn't either of our faults. It happened, and we'll live with it."

The nurse leans over and begins digging through her pack. He watches with curious eyes. What else did she have stored in that bag? The pack had seemed to be never ending from what he had seen her pull out of it and place back into it. Pulling out a scrap of folded paper, she rested her back against the wall once again. She unfolded the paper, revealing the German family photo from the bunker. Her eyes stare at the photo with a profound sadness. He can't place the reason behind it but he can watch her.

"If we make it out of here, that is." Mags lets her head rest against his shoulder. Her eyes felt heavy from exhaustion. It had been so long since she had slept. "I don't want to be like this. I don't want to be a picture on some poor bastard's bed, left behind because he got shot and couldn't grab it. I hate this stupid fucking war."

Schofield nods. He's unsure of how to respond. Part of him wants to comfort her, reassure her that will never happen; but he has no way to promise that. He had no clue what the road ahead of her held. What if she got married to some chap in the military, leaving her at home to care for their children? Or maybe she'd find a young man who'd sweep her off her feet. His gaze moves down to her now holding her family photo. His eyes widen as she rips herself out of the family portrait. Her hand holds her photo out to him. "But that was your family photo."

"Never felt like I belonged anyway." Her words are sad, but her tone is simply tired. She continues to hold the photo out to him. "Here, take it. If I'm going to be a photo taped to a bed, might as well be someone I actually like."

His fingers gently take her photo. In the photo, she's in a light colored gown. Her hair is pulled up into a bun, though a few hairs are falling out into her face. Her eyes are as bright and expressive as ever. Her smile is refrained, but still there. He can't help but notice how beautiful she looked. Even now, with the candle light framing her features and sweat and blood drying on her, she was beautiful. Shaking his head, he pulls himself out of his own daydream.

His hands dig into his jacket pocket for the blue tobacco tin. Pulling it out, he pops it open. Despite her attempt to not pry, Mags glances over, looking over the photos in the tin container. Her heart almost drops at the sight of a photo of a young woman. "She's pretty." A red hot flush of embarrassment covers her face. Here she was, giving this man she'd only known for a day a photo of her while he probably had a wife and children of his own. She felt like a stupid schoolgirl with a stupid crush on a boy in her class.

"She looks just like Mum." Schofield chuckles, pulling out the photo of the young woman. Behind that photo was one of two infant girls. A truly happy smile grew on his lips. It was one of the first she had ever seen him smile. Mags felt like a selfish child, wanting to cry because her friend was happy. "I remember when Mum first met Sue's first boyfriend. God, she about keeled over from a heart attack. Now she's married to the poor chap. But he never hears the end of it. Especially now he's got two girls."

"Sue?" Mags furrowed her blonde eyebrows at the name.

"My sister." He holds up the photograph for the nurse to get a look. "She just recently had two girls." Holding up the photo of the children, he places the photo of Mags in the blue tin. "The one on the right is Mary and the one on the left is Georgia. From what she's said, they're already a handful." Schofield chuckles, a longing smile on his lips. What he would give to be able to see them. "When I got to go back home, they were only a few months old. Now, I think they're almost two."

The nurse handed the photos back to her friend. "Well, with you as an uncle, they might not be very bright." It takes Schofield a moment before he begins to laugh. "But, I can see your sister is ten times brighter than you, so cheers." She takes a swig of the whiskey, finishing the bottle. Digging through her pockets, she fishes out her own tobacco tin. There's only two cigarettes left. "You want one?" She holds the tin out to the soldier.

"I'll just bum off of yours." He shakes his head, staring at the photos in his tin.

With a scoff, Mags rolls her eyes. "Big of you to assume I'll let you." Pulling out her matches, she strikes one and lights her cigarette. The tobacco fills her lungs, leaving a sickening taste in her mouth. Maybe, after the war, she'd give them up. Her mother had always scolded her heavily when she caught the girl smoking. It's a nasty habit, she had told her. For once, her mother was right. Mags didn't like how it made her smell. She didn't like how it lingered on her for hours. Her hand held the cigarette out to the man next to her. Taking it from her, he took a long drag and handed it back to her.

"We need to be somewhere." He turns to speak to the French girl. "We need to find a wood to the southeast." The girl practically stares through him. With a soft sigh, he closes his eyes to try and recall what little French he had remembered. "Trees... Les arbres?" No, that's not it. "Croiset?"

"Croisilles?" The girl responds. Schofield nods in response. "Les rivière-" She points out towards the southeast.

"The river?" Schofield asks.

"River." The girl speaks in slow English. "It goes there. Trees. Croisilles."

Another dull ache pierces his mind. Letting out a soft groan, he rubs his forehead. Mags lifts her head off of his shoulder. Her hands gently grab his shoulders, turning his back towards her. "Let me take a look at you." She mumbles as she tilts his head towards the candlelight. Her face contorts to a wince at the sight of the blood seeping through the bandage. What else should she have expected? He probably had a concussion. But it didn't matter now. They were in too deep to do anything about it.

"How's it look?" Schofield asks, turning his head slightly to gauge her response.

"Awful, but don't worry about it."

He can't help but chuckle in response. Leaning back, his back presses against her. Her arms instinctively wrap around him. The two revel in the warmth and comfort of each other's presence. It won't last long, but it's enough to keep them going on a little longer.

A soft sound grabs their attention. The girl quickly makes her way over to a makeshift bed and dresser. Pulling open a drawer, she pulls an infant out. Mags' jaw practically drops. The last thing she had expected to see was an infant. Both her and Schofield are quick to push themselves off of the ground and approach the two. "Ma petite." The girl smiles as Mags and Schofield look over the child.

"A girl?" Schofield asks.

The girl nods. The infant begins to stir, beginning to cry. The girl is quick to soothe her. "What's her name?" Mags asks. The girl shrugs her shoulders, responding that she doesn't know. "Who's her mother?" The girl shrugs again. Both Mags and Schofield share sad glances. "Give her that food you found back at the bunker." She nods towards his pack.

He's quick to pull the cans of food out of his pack. "Food. Here. You can have these, we won't need them. It's all we've got." The girl shakes her head, speaking in French.

Mags looks to Schofield to see if he understands what she's saying. He clearly doesn't. The nurse repeats the sentence in her mind. Lait... That sounded familiar. Where had she heard it before? "Milk?" She asks with furrowed eyebrows. Her mother had attempted to teach her French once upon a time, deeming it the most ladylike of languages. The lessons had lasted only two days. The girl nods with a pure smile. "Your canteen." She directs her words to Schofield.

He pulls his canteen out from his pack. Once opened, he lets the girl smell the milk. "Here." The girl looks up at him with pure gratitude. She thanks them before taking the canteen into her grasp. A bright smile grows on Schofield's face as he looks over the infant. "Bonjour." He greets the infant.

Mags watches, a smile of her own forming on her rosy lips. Her chin rests against her right palm. The girl looks between the two. She asks something in French before stopping herself. "Children? You two?"

Mags quickly shakes her head. "No, no. Maybe one day, though." A soft sigh escapes her lips as she watches the infant stare up at the girl.

Schofield's gaze turns to the nurse. He can see the look of longing in her eyes. He vaguely remembered her talking about not wanting to be married to a boring man who only loved her for the children she bore. It made him wonder about her home life. It was clear she hadn't gotten along with her mother. If she hadn't joined the war, would she have been married off to the richest man to come along? He couldn't picture that life for her. She belonged in a life of action and adventure and happiness and her true self.

The girl's voice grabbed his attention. "You... Children?"

He shook his head. "No, not me." His eyes glance up at Mags, who continues to stare down at the infant. "Maybe one day, though."

The baby begins to stir again. The girl shushes her, rocking her gently. She says something in French towards Schofield. He begins reciting a poem. "They went to sea in a Sieve, they did, In a Sieve they went to sea," Mags' gaze darts up to him. Memories of her father flood her mind. Tears form in her eyes, almost forcing a sob out. She lets her eyes fall close, letting herself be wrapped around his voice. "In spite of all their friends could say, On a winter's morn, on a stormy day, In a Sieve they went to sea." Both the girl and the infant stare up at him, transfixed on his voice. His eyes dart to Mags, whose head is buried in her arms against her knees. Her body shakes with tears. "Far and few, far and few, Are the lands where the Jumblies live; Their heads are green, and their hands are blue, And they went to sea in a Sieve."

The room fills with silence. All that can be heard is Mags' soft gasps for air in between her cries. Both the girl and Schofield look towards Mags. Both are unsure of what to do. His hand reaches out, gently gripping her shaking shoulder. Her left hand grabs his wrist tightly. Lifting her head, he's shocked to see the amount of tears that stain her face. "Edward Lear..." She whispers, holding back another sob. "Good choice, mate." Nodding, she lets go of his wrist and wipes her tears away. "My father's favorite. He used to read it to me every night before bed. I'd beg him to read another, just to hear his voice. Mum would always have his head for it, but he didn't care. It made me happy and that was all that mattered to him; that his daughter was happy."

Schofield intertwines their hands. She needs the comfort more than anyone. He wants to say something to help, but his mind is blank. The only thing he can think of is her father's face in the photograph. Her brother, the one fighting with Blake's.

At that moment, the bells of the burning church toll loudly. It's morning. They've lost. There's no time. They've wasted too much of it and now they were paying the price. The two share terrified gazes. Their hands tighten around each other, unaware of what to do. Mags is the first to pull her hand away. She quickly gathers her pack and her rifle. Schofield repeats her actions, preparing himself. The girl speaks quickly in French, but neither of them can understand her.

"We have to go." Schofield responds as he slings his pack over his shoulder. "I'm sorry." His eyes turn to Mags, who stands behind him, sober and ready to leave. Her hand quickly finds his. Their fingers intertwine as they rush up the stairs out of the cellar. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.


	12. twelve.   did you hear the falling bombs?

THEY STAY AMONG THE SHADOWS. Her hands begin to sweat, but he doesn't mind. He just needs to know she's still there. He needs to know he isn't alone in this. The town surrounding them is silent. The sun has yet to rise in the sky. The two find their way to a fork in the path. To their right is an alley. He begins leading them down.

A loud bang stops the two in their tracks. A door ahead of them flings open, revealing a German soldier stumbling out. He's clearly drunk out of his mind. Mags wants nothing more than to shoot him down in this moment, but she knows better. Taking a few more steps, the soldier leans over and begins puking. Both Schofield and Mags wince in disgust before taking a few silent steps forward. The soldier continues vomiting as they make their way into a doorway.

It's the assembly hall of a school. The only light available is the flames from the burning church. A small fire burns by the door that the soldier had just gone out of. A few empty bottles of liquor sit next to it. Glancing around, Mags freezes at the sight of another German soldier. She tugs on Schofield's hand, nodding towards the second soldier. They have no choice but to take him out.

The soldier is facing the corner, pulling up the zipper of his pants with a huff of annoyance as it catches onto a piece of fabric. As he turns, his eyes catch sight of the two. He stops and freezes, unsure of what to do. After a moment, he turns to yell for the soldier outside. Schofield is quick to close the gap, slamming the soldier into the ground. Mags joins their side. Schofield mouths for the man to be quiet. He nods in response.

As Schofield slowly lets go of the soldier's mouth, Mags takes notice of the man slowly pulling a knife out of his sheath. Not again. No, this can't end like Blake. She's quick to grab his arm, holding it back as he begins to shout. Schofield slams his hand against the man's mouth, quieting him. Mags wrestles with the man's arm, careful to not get cut again or even stabbed.

The soldier bites down on Schofield's wounded hand. Gritting his teeth, his hands wrap around the man's neck. Mags finally manages to get the knife out the soldier's grip. Just as the other soldier makes his way into the room, Mags slams the knife into the soldier's throat. Just like the pilot, blood begins to seep from his neck. She pulls the knife out and slams it into his chest, right into his heart.

Schofield pulls back as the soldier's body falls slack. His eyes send a silent thank you to the nurse. The soldier by the door begins speaking in German. They have no idea what he's saying, but they know this isn't a good situation to be in. With no response, the soldier begins to call out the name of his comrade. "Baumer?" He calls out, receiving no answer. "Baumer?" He begins stumbling towards them.

Mags quickly pulls the knife out of Baumer, ready to defend them once again. Schofield quickly pushes himself out of the shadows. His rifle is left alone behind them. He slams his body against the German, knocking him to the ground. They both make their way out of the building as the soldiers screams fill their ears. He's yelling after them. "Don't stop!" Schofield shouts to Mags as they sprint through the town.

A gunshot rings out, hitting the building to their left. Mags thanks whatever higher power there is that this soldier's drunker than she was. As they turn a corner, they catch sight of another German soldier ahead of them. The soldier turns and fires his rifle at them. Schofield reaches out, pulling Mags into an alley. The soldiers race into the alley after them, firing at them and missing.

As they exit the alley, they jump down the flight of stairs. Schofield slams into the wall ahead of them. There's enough space between them and the Germans but that doesn't stop them from running. They continue sprinting until they come up on a bridge. It's broken. Mags nearly stops in her tracks, halting Schofield. "What?! What's wrong?! Are you hit?!" He asks frantically, looking behind her for enemy soldiers.

"I can't swim." She shakes her head. "I'll drown."

"And if we stay here, you'll be shot or raped!"

"Will, I can't! I'll die as soon as I hit the water." Tears fill her eyes. Stop fucking crying, she shouts at herself. "I can't fucking do it, Will!"

His hands grab her face. "Do you trust me?" Her brow furrows for a moment. "Do you trust me, Maggie?" She blinks before nodding. "Then jump. Hold onto me and don't let go. I won't let you drown."

Taking a deep and shaky breath, her hands grabs his tightly. They climb onto the wall of the bridge. Mags wants to throw up at the sight of the water. She doesn't like this. A pit forms in her stomach, but he jumps, pulling her down with him. Her free hand pinches her nose.

They drop forty feet and slam into the rushing water. Schofield is the first to emerge from the water. He looks around for the nurse, but sees only water. His hand pulls up and she gasps for air. Relief floods him as his arms wrap tightly around her. "Don't let go of me, you hear?" She nods in response as her arms wrap around him equally as tight.

The Germans are long gone. The French girl and infant are long gone. Blake is long gone. Schofield guides them as best as he can against the rough currents that carry them. He catches sight of a boulder sticking out of the water and curses spill from his lips. Quickly spinning, he lets his back slam against the rock. With a grunt of pain, his body slides off of the boulder and is being dragged by the currents once again.

The sound becomes louder. They begin to realize what the source is. The currents pick up, pulling them closer and closer to a waterfall. Panic sets into both of them, but it's too late. They both go over the edge, clinging to each other for dear life. The two plunge into the water below for a few moments before resurfacing.

The sun has officially risen. The currents become softer, gently carrying them along. Schofield grabs onto a floating branch. Mags is quick to cling to the bark holding her above water. The soldier across from her lets his eyes fall close, letting the currents carry them. The water is icy and numbs them. The wind blows against the trees, rustling the leaves. If she could stay here forever, she just might. Just her and Schofield, floating along in a gentle river.

Her eyes close, letting the breeze comfort her. A soft tickle grabs her attention. Opening her eyes, she watches cherry blossoms fall from the sky. Schofield reaches out, grabbing the petals in his hand. They share a look. Blake. Something in him restarts. He begins pulling the branch towards the banks of the river. Looking ahead, they're nearing a fallen tree. Bodies surround it. It's a mix of soldiers - both German and British - and women and children. Mags winces at the sight as they collide into the bloated corpses.

His hand grabs hers as they begin climbing over the bodies towards the banks. Tears are already falling from his eyes. He can't stop them anymore. There's no bottling this up. It's far too much to handle to keep in. As they make it onto the bank, Schofield falls to his knees and lets the sobs loose. A gentle hand rubs his back. All she can do is watch with sad eyes. She knows all too well that nothing she says will make it any easier. All she can do is let him cry.

In the distance, there's singing. They both look up towards the sound. Schofield pushes back sobs. Mags pushes herself off of the ground, holding her hand out towards him. Her bicep burns as the blood rushes back to it. His hand grabs hers, using her to pull himself up.

They climb up the banks towards the voice. Their steps are dragging against the forest grass. Schofield begins to wonder if this voice is even real. But Mags had heard it too. Maybe they were both losing it.

Their eyes catch sight of a group of soldiers. They're British. Relief floods their systems. Schofield makes his way towards a tree. His body slams against it as he takes a seat, letting the music consume him. Mags takes a seat next to him. Her clothes cling to her body in an uncomfortable way. She wants nothing more than to strip the dirty uniform off and change into her nurse's uniform.

A hand intertwines with hers. Glancing down, she sees Schofield's hand loosely holding onto hers. A small smile grew on her lips as she lets her forehead rest against his shoulder. There's a moment of bliss between the two, it's a moment where they're alone and not in the middle of a war. It's a moment where they have nothing to worry about but each other.

The song finishes. A few soldiers applaud the singer. "D Company! Move out!" A voice shouts.

"You two alright?" A voice asks both Mags and Schofield. They look up at the two soldiers in front of them.

"Where are you from?" Another soldier asks.

"They've probably got the wind up."

"He's not one of ours. And the nurses are stationed up further behind the line."

"Why's she wearing a soldier's uniform?"

"They're both soaked."

"Where's the Devons?" Mags asks with a new intensity.

"What? What're you talking about?" One of the soldiers furrows his eyebrows. "We're the Devons."

"What? Why haven't you gone?" Schofield asks, bringing himself back to the world.

The soldiers share glances. "We're the second wave."

"We're the D Company, we're the last to go in."

Schofield pulls himself off of the ground, pulling Mags up with him. "Where's Colonel Mackenzie?"

"He's further up the line."

"Which way?" Mags asks, her voice frantic.

"This way." The soldier points down at the path. "We're heading this way now."

Both Schofield and Mags take off down the path. They push past the men in front of them. Mags apologizes as she gently pushes past the soldiers. Her hand tightens around Schofield's. They need to make it to the trenches, no matter the cost.

As they make their way into the trenches, they push through soldiers left and right. Schofield stops, grabbing a corporal by the shoulders. "Where's your commanding officer?"

"He's in the holding pen." The soldier hesitantly answers.

Without another word, they both begin sprinting down the trenches. Their eyes search for any other soldiers to question. A lieutenant shouts orders at his men. "Sir!" Schofield calls out as they reach him. "I have a message from General Erinmore!"

"Who the fuck are you?" The man's eyes turn to Mags. "And what's a nurse doing in the fucking trenches? Who's your head nurse? I'm reporting you!"

"Oh, shove it!" Mags shouts back, anger filling her veins.

"The attack has been called off!" Schofield shouts, grabbing the man's attention. "General Erinmore has called off the attack."

"Balls, man." The man curses, shaking his head. "We're about to go over. We've got them on the run."

Both Mags and Schofield shake their heads. "No, you don't! You can't send your men over."

"Out of the way, Corporal-"

"These are direct orders from the fucking General!" Mags shouts. Both soldiers stare at her in shock. "Where the fuck is Colonel Mackenzie?!" She pulls the letter out of Schofield's jacket pocket, shoving it into the man's hand. It's still soaked from the river.

The man lets out a deep sigh as he reads over the letter. "Jesus Christ, man! Go and see the captain!" He shoves them down the trenches. They both continue sprinting down the trenches. The narrow walkways are clogged with soldiers. Different soldiers shout orders to their men as the two sprint past them.

Schofield stops to another man. "Where is the captain?"

"He's over there." The man gestures them further down the trench.

They rush up to a man who's sitting on the ground. Tears stream down his face as his body rocks from the sobs he lets out. He looks up to them as Schofield shakes him. "Sir! We have a message. This attack has been called off. You have to stop-" He's cut off when the ground shakes from an artillery hit. They're too late. Men press themselves against the wall of the trench to prepare against the impact. "Where is Colonel Mackenzie?!" His voice is almost completely silent from the sound of artillery fire.

The men around them cover their ears from the noise. Even Mags covers her ears. It's almost as bad as the explosion from the bunker. With a groan, she grabs Schofield's arm and begins pulling him further down the trench. As much as her heart goes out to the captain, they don't have time.

Artillery explodes every few feet as they push their way through the trench. Commanding officers shout orders to their men. The two stop for nothing. Their feet begin to drag as their legs grow weak and tired from the sprinting. The trench begins to narrow, leaving little room for them or the soldiers ready to fight.

Ahead of them, artillery slams into the trench. This doesn't deter them as they grow closer to the area. The trench becomes even more narrow. Soldiers completely block the way for them to pass. Mags stops and turns to Schofield. "What now?!" She yells through the booms of artillery explosions.

Schofield turns to the commanding officer that's shouting orders. "Sir, we have orders to stop this attack."

"What?!"

"Where is Colonel Mackenzie?"

"He's further up the line."

"How far?"

"Three hundred yards. He's in a cut and cover." The man answers. They both look around at the sea of men blocking the trench. "You'll have to wait until the first wave goes over."

"We don't have the time!" Schofield returns to Mags' side. "We have to get to Colonel Mackenzie. He's three hundred yards up the trench."

She simply nods. Her eyes turn to the field ahead of them. "Only way through is over!" She shouts over the explosions.

"You'll never make it over that way!" The commanding officer shouts from behind them. "Are you bloody insane?"

Three hundred years. It's a cakewalk. Compared to everything else they've been through, this is easy. Three hundred yards of open field with no cover and hundreds of artillery shells coming at them full force. Easy as pie. Her hands slips into his. Their eyes meet. Mags nods. There's complete trust in her eyes. That's all he needs. The commanding officer shouts at them, but his shouts fall on deaf ears.

Just three hundred yards. Don't stop for anything. Just three hundred yards and this will all be over with. Blake's brother will be saved and they'll be done. Taking a deep breath, they vault themselves over the trench wall and onto the open battlefield.


	13. thirteen.   outside the wall

HER HEART HAMMERED AGAINST HER RIB CAGE. If it could beat harder, it might have burst out of her chest. She leads him across the open field. Behind them, explosions from shells go off. Shrapnel flies everywhere. To their left, soldiers begin vaulting themselves over the wall of the trench. Both begin running faster. They pass them in every direction. Soldiers cut in front of them and shortly behind the two. "Keep going!" Schofield shouts from behind Mags.

German guns begin firing. Mags' legs pull her faster. Only a little bit more to go. All you need is to get back into the trench, she tells herself. Glancing back, she loses sight of Schofield. Her body skids to a stop. She stumbles over her own feet as she begins pushing herself back. Just as she nears him, she catches sight of him pulling himself free from the corpse of a British soldier. Holding her hand out, she quickly pulls him up. "I told you to keep going!" Schofield shouts over the gunfire.

"When have I ever listened to you before?!" She shouts back as she pulls them through the field. More and more soldiers fill the fields to their right. They need to hurry or more men will die. That blood will be on their hands. Her lungs burn with a new intensity. They hurt more than when she was drowning; they hurt more than when she fell from a tree and broke a rib; they hurt more than when her father died.

Her eyes catch sight of the open trench. "Here!" She shouts before ducking into the trench. Her limbs pull close to her body as she slams her body against the gravel. Pain fills her entire body as her back slams against the wall of the trench. Schofield falls in after her. "Are you alright?!" She manages to shout as she pushes herself off of the ground. He nods in response. His eyes widen at the sight of her head. Blood is seeping down her forehead, and down her cheek. Her hand reaches up to feel the warm, sticky substance. "Shit." She hisses as a sharp pain fills her head. "No time! Let's go find Colonel Mackenzie!"

Her hand tugs on his, pulling him up from the ground. The two begin sprinting down the trenches. She skids to a stop in front of a captain. "Where's Colonel Mackenzie?!" She frantically asks.

"He's in there!" He shouts before giving orders to his troops.

Both the nurse and the soldier make their way towards a small bunker room. Two soldiers stand guard, stopping them. "Let us in!" Schofield shouts with a newfound desperation. "Let us through now!" The soldiers pin Schofield up against the gravel wall.

With a deep breath, Mags manages to shove both men to the side. "Go inside!" She shouts to Schofield. With a moment of hesitance, he sprints into the bunker. Both soldiers shove the nurse to the side before rushing in after the soldier. Mags pushes herself off of the ground and enters the bunker. Her body slams into the backs of the soldiers. Glancing over, she watches as Schofield holds out the letter to the colonel. A moment of relief fills her. They've done it. They've finally done it. They're done.

Her eyes take in the colonel's appearance. A scar covers his left eye, leaving it milky with blindness. His thin mustache almost commands respect for authority. "And who's this?" He asks, his gaze turning to her.

"That's Nurse Margaret Winters. She's the reason I'm here, Sir." Schofield answers.

The two soldiers in front of her step to the side, letting her through. Her body almost collapses to the ground in exhaustion. Her feet drag her to Schofield's right side. "Sir." She nods with a tired but polite smile.

"Nurse." The colonel nods back. "I was just arguing with this young Lance Corporal here. Seems that you two have a letter from the General stating that we need to call off the attack. Is this true?"

"We wouldn't be here if it weren't true." Mags' sore arms cross over her chest. "If you don't call this off, more men will die than necessary. It's a trap that the Germans set."

"Is that so?" The colonel scoffs.

"If you don't call off this attack, you might as well put a bullet in your own mens' heads." Mags snaps. This grabs the attention of all of the soldiers in the room. "You're killing your own men. How would that look for moral?"

"I have heard it all, Nurse... Winters, was it?" She nods in response. "Ah, Nurse Winters. Well, Nurse Winters, I am not going to wait until dusk or for fog. I'm not calling back my men only to send them out there again tomorrow. Not when we've got these bastards on the run. This is their last stand."

"And it will be ours, as well, if you continue the attack." Mags practically begs. "Whether you want to believe it or not, the German are smart. They've been planning this attack for months!"

"Please," Schofield speaks up, "just read the letter, Sir."

The colonel nods once again before reading the letter. All of the soldiers in the room watch in anticipation. Was the letter actually calling off the attack? That couldn't be possible. They had already begun it. This would deplete moral for the troops. But would it be more costly if they let their men die at the hands of the German forces? After another moment of silence, the colonel turns to the man behind the table. "Major." The soldier responds. "Stand them down."

Relief floods into Schofield and Mags' systems. They almost collapse onto each other. That's all they needed. The colonel turns to the two soldiers behind them. "Call up the orderlies. Have them tend to the wounded. I would ask Nurse Winters here to assist, but I believe she's seen enough gore for the day. Hold the line in case they counter."

The soldiers leave the room to enter the trenches. Colonel Mackenzie turns to both Schofield and Mags. "I had hoped today would be a good day." He shrugs his shoulders with a soft sigh. "I suppose hope is a dangerous thing, though." The two remain silent, simply watching him. "That's it for now. Then, next week, Command will send a different message. Attack at dawn." His gaze is sharp and intimidating. Mags feels only two feet small in front of the man. "There is only one way this war ends. Last man standing."

"That's a dangerous mindset to have." Mags scoffs.

The colonel's gaze bores into her, but she refuses to back down. "Both of you, fuck off. Have someone attend to your wounds." He nods towards the bleeding cut on the nurse's head.

Both Schofield and Mags move to leave the bunker. A hand grabs Schofield's arm from behind. An older soldier with a kind face looks up at him. "Well done, lad." His voice is sincere. A smile grows when he turns to the nurse. "You too, lass. You've both have saved a lot of lives today."

Mags' smile grows. Tears begin to brim her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. "Do you know a Corporal Winters, Sir?" She asks through her hoarse voice.

"Why, yes. He was with the first wave." The man nods with a kind smile. "I suppose he's probably tending to his men."

"What about Lieutenant Blake?" Schofield asks quickly. "There were three of us. We were sent with his brother."

The soldier slowly nods. "He was also in the first wave. Knowing him, he's probably helping his men to the aid stations." He looks out towards the trenches. "You could find both of them near the casualty clearing station, behind the line. If not..." He trails off. That's all Mags needs to hear before pushing past the men and beginning her trek down the trenches.

Shortly behind her, Schofield follows in hot pursuit. His hand finds hers, not wanting to lose her in the sea of soldiers that pass them. Every few moments, soldiers carrying wounded pass them. Glancing at their wounds, she winces. Her pack begins to feel heavy on her body, but she doesn't move it. It's her lifeline. Without it, she is lost. Without the hand holding hers, she is lost.

Her breathing quickens as she pushes past soldiers left and right. Mags knows it's selfish, she knows she's not a good person, but she has to see Alex. She needs to see his face - whether it was warm and tan or cold and pale. She just needed to see him.

They make their way onto a hill. There's a medical tent, filled to the brim with soldiers on beds. It's an all too familiar sight for Mags. Her hand tightens on Schofield's. "Excuse me?" She calls to the doctor ahead of her. "Do you have a Corporal Winters or a Lieutenant Blake?"

"No idea, ma'am." The doctor shrugs before turning back to the patients.

With a sigh of frustration, they continue their trek. "Lieutenant Blake?!" Schofield shouts from behind her. "Is there a Lieutenant Blake here?!"

Men all around them die in seconds. Blood pours from their wounds. Any of these could be Blake's brother, but none of them are hers. Shit. "Now, come on, boys!" A voice shouts from behind them. It's familiar. "He's taken one in the leg. He's lost a lot of blood, too!"

They turn to see an older man. Sharing a glance, Mags' hand drops from Schofield's. She gives him a soft nod. Her hand reaches into her jacket pocket to feel the corks and the string. She still hadn't cut a hole in her two new corks. "Lieutenant Blake?" Schofield calls out to the man. The man stops and looks up at them. Tears immediately fill Mags' eyes. She can't help but remember Blake. His laugh, his stories, his tears, and his dying breath. "We're from the 8th."

"What the hell are you two doing here?" Lieutenant Blake chuckles with a look of surprise. Before Schofield can speak, the man continues. "The 8th, right? You two must know my brother."

It takes all of her strength to not cry in that moment. "We were sent here with him." Schofield responds.

"Tom's here?" A large smile forms on the man's face. "Where is he?" When the two remain silent, he takes in their expressions. He notices that the nurse in front of him is holding back tears. Her eyes become bloodshot and her bottom lip quivers. His smile instantly drops as he puts the pieces together.

"It was very quick." Schofield is quick to reassure. "We're very sorry."

The lieutenant nods with no words. It's a lot to take in. His younger brother is... dead. "What're your names?"

"Schofield, William Schofield." The soldier answers before turning to the nurse. "This is Nurse Margaret Winters."

"My brother mentioned you once." The lieutenant points his finger at the nurse. "Tom said you looked like the toughest woman he'd ever seen." With a soft and sad chuckle, he nods. "He wasn't wrong." Shaking his head, he forces away the tears that begin to build. "Well, you two need to get some food. God only knows what you two have been through to get here."

Schofield is silent for a moment. "If I may, Sir," he begins, "I'd like to write to your mother. Tell her that Tom wasn't alone." Nearing him, he held his hand out to the man.

The lieutenant nods, holding his hand out. A tear slips down his cheek as Schofield places the rings from Blake into his hand.

"He was a good man." Mags is quick to interject. "He was a great man. He was always telling stupid stories in that stupid tone."

"That he was always right?" Lieutenant Blake chuckles as more tears form. "He always did that when he told a story. Made it seem like his word was law." Nodding, he took a deep and shaky breath. He wants nothing more than to break down, but he doesn't have the time. "I'm glad he had you two. Thank you, Will and Margaret." He holds his hand out to Mags first, shaking it before turning to Schofield.

They both nod. "Before you go," Mags quickly lets her words spill, "do you know a Corporal Winters?"

With a warm smile, the lieutenant nods. "I knew your name was familiar. Alex's my best mate." Wiping away any stray tears, his gaze turns to the end of the medical tent. "He's just down there, being helpful as ever. Man never thinks of himself until he's unconscious."

Tears spring to her eyes as she takes in the familiar silhouette of her older brother. She mumbles a thank you to Lieutenant Joseph Blake before breaking into a sprint. Schofield watches her with a soft smile. "Alex! Alex!" She shouts at the top of her sore lungs. Behind her, Schofield jogs to catch up with her.

The soldier ahead of her stops in his tracks. His wide eyes turn to see his younger sister running at him full force. "Maggie?" A chuckle escapes his throat as his arms open wide. The short girl flings herself into his embrace. Lifting her off the ground, he spins her in a couple circles. Both siblings are sobbing against each other. Mags cries from relief, and Alex cries from happiness.

Schofield watches with a gentle smile. He can feel a sort of secondhand happiness just at the sight of them. Mags pulls back from the hug, taking in the features of her brother. He looks older. Dark scruff lines his jawline and dark circles surround his eyes. Other than that, he's no worse for wear. She, on the other hand, has dried blood on her forehead and bicep with tears cleaning off the dirt that had been caked on her cheeks. She almost looks tanner with the dirt staining her face. "You're alive." She breathes.

"As I'll ever be." He laughs. "And you're... barely alive?" His eyebrows furrow at the blood from her head.

"Nothing but a flesh wound, eh?" She chuckles, punching his arm. Glancing to her right, she remembers the presence of her friend. "Alex, this is Will. We uh... We've been through a lot together the past day."

Alex turns to Schofield, holding a hand out to shake. "I'd love to hear about it soon as I can." The two shake hands. "You protected her the whole time, right?"

"More like she protected me." Will offers a tired smile.

Alex laughs and nods. "Yeah, that sounds about right. Never thinks of herself until she's unconscious, eh?" His elbow nudges the nurse. She rolls her eyes. "Look, I need to tend to these men and then I'll find you both, yeah? Get something to eat. You're all skin and bones."

"Just like Mum wanted." Mags mumbles.

"Fuck 'er." Alex presses a loving kiss to his sister's forehead. "And get cleaned up. You look worse than most of the men here. With that uniform, we might accidentally send you out." He lets loose another laugh as she punches his bicep. "Though, if you're up for it, we could really use your help with these wounded."

Mags turns to face the soldier next to her. "Sounds like they need me."

Schofield nods. "You're a very important person, I imagine."

She turns back to her brother. "Can you give me a moment?" Alex is quick to nod before entering the medical tent. "You should rest. Go get some food in you. Lord knows you need it." Mags lets out a soft chuckle. "I know this isn't goodbye, but..."

"It's not." He shakes his head. "You're still stuck with the 8th and you're still stuck with me."

"'Til my dying breath." They share a laugh. Pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, she offers her most sincere smile. "I wish I had met you sooner, Will. I think my life would've been a lot different if I had."

"Come find me when you're done, yeah?"

"Always."


	14. epilogue.   in the flesh

1919

SHE STARES DOWN AT THE LETTER GIDDILY. A wide smile refuses to drop from her lips. Her fingers grip the pen with an intensity. The messy handwriting on the parchment stares up at her, repeating itself in her mind. Dropping her pen on the desk, she rests her chin against her palm. A knock at her bedroom door grabs her attention. Glancing back, she watches her older brother peek into the room. "'Nother letter from your boyfriend." He hands her the envelope with a playful smirk.

"He's not my boyfriend, idiot." She snags the envelope from him. "Now, get out of my room."

"Yes, Mum." He laughs as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

The moment the door is closed, she begins opening the letter. Yet another one to add to her collection. As soon as her letter is free, the envelope falls to the floor, forgotten. Her eyes scan over the messy handwriting like it's the best news she's gotten in years - and it is. A giddy smile overcomes her features as she reads over each sentence with precise care. 'I can hardly wait to see you again.' She can almost hear his voice.

Clutching the letter to her chest, she almost squeals in excitement. For the first time in forever, she has a date. A date with a man who knows her true self. A date with a man who wouldn't stand her up or forget about her. She pushes herself away from the desk, collapsing onto the bed with a dreamy sigh.

Her eyes stared up at the smooth beige ceiling. Her pale green room felt more homey than her childhood bedroom ever had. There was an air of happiness about it. Picture frames and paintings littered the walls; but only one photo remained on her nightstand. The photo of the German woman and child stared at her every morning and every night. It was a stark reminder of what she had seen and what she had been through. She refused to let herself forget.

The door opened up again. "You want any dinner? I'm making spaghetti." Alex smiled down at his sister. He loved her more than anything, and it was clear in his eyes. His heart had always held a special place for the girl. Though he didn't want to admit favorites, Mags had always been the one he found himself favoring. Eliza was her mother's daughter, picking up nearly every trait their mother had. And that was why she refused to speak to them anymore.

"No, thank you." Mags smiled, pushing herself in a sitting position on her bed. "I have a date tomorrow." Her wide and toothy smile was contagious to the older boy. "What should I even wear? I haven't even thought of that! Oh, God!" She pushes herself off of the bed. Her feet carry her over to the closet as she begins rooting through her gowns and outfits. "What if I wear something he hates? Or what if I look stupid in it? Maybe I should wear trousers. Or is that too casual?"

"Maggie," Alex chuckles, approaching his sister with an air of gentleness, "he's going to be completely blown across the pond when he sees you. You could show up in a fucking potato sack and I think he'd propose on the spot."

"I think you're being a bit dramatic there."

Rolling his eyes, Alex let out a laugh. His hand clasped on her shoulder for a fleeting moment before leaving her room without another word. He was more than happy for his sister; in fact, he was over the moon at the idea that someone could finally show her the love and appreciation he knew she deserved. But the underlying protective brother in him wanted her to stay home, never speak to any man that could hurt her. But she was an adult. She was a woman who could make her own life and her own decisions. He refused to be like their father.

The two went to sleep that night on empty stomachs. Mags was too nervous to stomach any food, and Alex was too tired to make anything for just himself. Their nights were sleepless, filled with nightmares. While each day became easier, the nights were the loneliest. She would wake up in a sweat, tears streaming from her face and a dull ache in her left temple. Blake's face still haunted her every time she began to drift into sleep. The German pilot and soldier she had stabbed still haunted her. If she thought long and hard enough, she could still feel their blood leaking from their necks and onto her hands. The young French girl's eyes still bore into her when she had a passing thought of children.

Alex still had nightmares of his friends. The bombs that would explode near him or the artillery shells that took out handfuls of men at once. He saw the men he held until their dying breaths, the tears they let out and the prayers they spoke. Everyone was a saint when they were thrust upon Death's door. He would wake up, gasping for breath, clutching at his neck for the imaginary hands that held him down. Neither would speak of their nightmares; it was a mutual understanding.

Upon the morning, Mags was up with a nervous smile. Her stomach rumbled with unease. As she stared into her closet, her right foot tapped rapidly. The green gown or the white button up with the beige trousers? Decisions, decisions. The green gown might seem a bit too formal and noticeable but the trousers might be a bit too casual and not as inviting. Letting out a soft sigh, she let her body collapse back onto the bed. Why should she care about what she's dressed in? He's seen her in far worse states than he would see her today. Her fingers reached up to graze against the ridged scar on her temple.

"Mags, you want any breakfast before your date?" Alex called from their kitchen.

"No, thank you!" She shouted back. Standing up, she grabbed the button up and trousers and began undressing. After pulling on the ensemble, she looked over herself in the vanity mirror. She flattened out her shirt as she continued nitpicking every detail she wasn't quite content with. Taking a seat at her vanity, she pulled out her baby pink lipstick and gently applied it, not wanting it to be too striking. She applies a soft wash of blush before pushing a piece of honey hair out of her face. Pulling her hair out of its loose bun, she began to work on her loose braid.

Before she moves from the desk, she opens the top right drawer. The cork necklace stares up at her, as does the small tin of cigarettes that Sepoy Jondalar had given her. Fond memories fill her mind. 'If we had a world full of soldiers, there'd be no love.' Those words had stuck with her. Her fingertips gently grazed against the tin case. She hadn't opened it since he had given it to her; it had nearly been five months since she had touched a cigarette and she hadn't any plans on losing that.

Shaking her head, she shoved the cork necklace into the purse she had tied around the chair. Mags slings the purse over her shoulder. It almost gives her a flashback to her times spent slinging her medical pack over her shoulder; though this purse is much lighter on her.

She leaves her bedroom and quickly makes her way into the kitchen of their small flat. Her brother stands at the gas stove, cooking some eggs. His smile widens as he turns to his sister. "Well, don't you look classy today." He crosses his arms over his chest as he takes a bit from his toast. "You sure you don't want any? I put pepper on them this time."

With a giggle, Mags shakes her head. "As tempting as the offer, I have a date to attend to." Jogging up to Alex, she presses a goodbye kiss to his cheek before making her way out of the flat. Her black flats click against the pavement. The Worthing air is warm; sun radiates down on her like a beam from Heaven itself. She rolls up the sleeves of her button up and adjusts the strap of her purse. Nothing can wear down the smile that graces her lips.

Men and women trade smiles with her as she passes. There's an extra skip in her step. As her gaze catches the cafe they had decided on, her heart almost stopped. Her feet slowed as she neared the entrance. From the glass door, she can see him sitting there, in a booth. A bouquet of lavenders sits on the table to his right. He's staring down at his hands as they flex and ball into tight fists.

One of her hands reaches up to grip the strap of her purse while the other reaches for the door handle. Pulling the door open, she takes a step inside. No one makes any move to pay any attention to her. Only a handful of steps and she'll be with him again. What would she even say? Should she be sincere? Or should she make a joke? Taking a deep breath, her feet carry her to the booth. "Well, you look better than I remembered."

His eyes snap up to meet hers. His breath catches in his throat. "Maggie..." He whispers before pushing himself out of the booth. In an instant, his arms are around her. His embrace is tight and warm and inviting. It's everything she had hoped it would be. Pulling back, the two gaze at each other with nostalgic smiles. For a moment, they're back in France, saying their goodbyes to each other. "It's good to see you, y'know, not bleeding."

Mags lets out a giggle. The two take their seats across from each other in the booth. Her eyes dart between him and the flowers. "You pick those just for me? Or are they for your other date?"

With a chuckle, he hands her the bouquet. "I couldn't get another date, that's why I picked you."

She lets out a playful gasp as she slaps his bicep. "Still a fucking arsehole, I see."

A waiter approaches, setting two beers down on the table. "I'll let you two look at the menu for a moment."

"What's this?" She asks with furrowed eyebrows.

"It's that drink I owe you." His smile is warm and wide.

"As long as it isn't that cow piss you were drinking at the farm, I'll take it." The two share a laugh. Mags takes a sip of her beer, letting out a hum or enjoyment. "So, William, tell me about your life after the war."

"Well, Margaret," they giggle like children, "life has been... life." He shrugs his shoulders. "It's been... an adjustment." She gives him an understanding nod. Of course she would understand, she was there with him. He knew he could confide in her. "It's been lonely, though. I think you're the only one I've spoken to outside of my sister and my nieces."

Nodding once again, she takes another sip of beer. "I hear you. The nights are the worst."

"Nightmares?"

She nods. "Alex is the same. I hear him sometimes, crying late at night. At first, I'd go to him, wake him up and help him through it. But he would get so angry at me. I'd never seen him so... angry. He looked just like our father. I stopped waking him up after he punched a mirror."

Will watches her eyes. They refuse to meet his. Her shoulders are tense. "Has he...?" He trails off.

"Hit me?" Mags smiles before shaking her head. "God, no. I think he'll throw himself from the roof before doing that."

"Good, good." Will reaches out to grab her right hand in his. It almost feels unreal to be holding her hand. It's rough but gentle. If he thought hard enough, he could feel her wrapping his wounds and holding his hand as they ran through the battlefield. "What about the rest of your family? How are they?"

"Well," Mags chuckles, using her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, "Eliza very quickly got married to some rich bloke up in the hills. She already has three kids! Can you believe that? They've been married four years! That's almost a kid a year. I swear, my stomach hurts thinking of it." The two share a hearty laugh. "Mum, she's... Apparently she died of a heart attack the year the war ended. Eliza never told me directly, she told Alex. Eliza refuses to speak to us any further because she thinks we abandoned her and Mum." With a humorless chuckle, Mags shakes her head. "Mum always did say I was going to give her a heart attack."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be." She waves him off, squeezing his hand. "I have something for you, actually." Pulling her hand away, she begins digging through her purse. As her fingers make contact with the necklace, a soft smile grows on her rosy lips. "Here. I finally finished it." Mags presents the necklace proudly.

His face drops. "Is that...?" Will trails off. He's unable to finish his question. He already knows the answer. It's Blake's.

"Yeah, I figured I owed it to him to at least finish the dumb cork necklace." She chuckled, setting it on the table in front of them. "Still have no idea why he did that, but who knows why he did the things he did. I still don't understand his hatred for peaches-" She's cut off when she notices Will wipe a tear away. His fingers hold the string so gently, as if it will break from the slightest breeze. "Will?"

"Maggie," his voice is hoarse, "thank you. This... It really means the world to me."

A newfound sense of guilt invades her. She hadn't meant to make him cry. She had thought it would make him happy to have something to keep of his best friend. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her fingers twiddling together, "I didn't meant to upset you."

"No, you didn't-" Will stopped short when the waiter returned to their table. The two quickly glanced over the menus, finding the first thing they found appetizing and ordering it.

1920

A SOFT SIGH ESCAPED HER LIPS. Her eyes hold a deep sadness as she stares at the patch of tall grass. Between her fingers, she twirls a cherry blossom. Had they buried him? Had they moved the body? Or had he simply been covered by the elements? It broke her heart to think of him, still lying there as maggots ate away at him. A tear slipped down her cheek as she shook away those thoughts. No point in dwelling on it, she thought to herself.

A presence moved to her left. "Well, he wasn't joking about those trees." His soft chuckle grabbed her attention. Her eyes glanced back to take in all of the trees that littered the field behind them. It was almost unrecognizable. It was difficult to imagine that merely three years ago, nearly every tree had been chopped down and they had held their dying friend in their arms. "It's weird being here."

She gently nods. There are no words she can form that could add to their conversation. Next to her, he holds his own cherry blossom between his fingers. "I remember, when we first met, I couldn't stand him." He chuckles, shaking his head. "Anyone could tell he was new, hadn't seen a second of action on the field. They made him and I run some supplies up the line one day. God, he wouldn't shut up the entire time." Both of them shared a laugh. "All he talked about was his dog back home and that nurse, Amelia. After the first hour, I snapped on him. I was a proper prick about it, too; surprised he stuck with me after the yelling I gave him."

Mags wipes away another stray tear. "I remember he'd brought in a soldier who had accidentally shot his foot. The entire time, the lad's crying about how much his foot hurts and Tom wouldn't lay off him. He starts calling the kid an idiot, but he never said it with anger or anything like that. Hell, I don't think Tom could be angry about anything."

"Crowe, right?"

"Yeah, that idiot should've been a fucking chef or something." The two shared another laugh. "He had no business carrying a fucking rifle around. God, Tom did not let up on him. And he was so smitten with Amelia that I didn't have the heart to tell him she was married."

"She was married?"

"Oh, yeah. She's like eight years older than me."

"Really? I couldn't tell."

"I'm electing to ignore that, Mr. Schofield." Her playful smile erupted a flutter of butterflies in his stomach. Crossing her legs, she rests her head against his shoulder.

His eyes glance down to see her hands resting against her legs. His left hand flexes before curling into a fist. He wants nothing more than to hold her hand, but he's hesitant. Before he can think anymore, her cold hand grabs his warm one. With a small smile, he presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I think Blake would've made fun of us for sitting here, missing him."

With a chuckle, she nods. "No doubt, he'd probably tell us we were being too boring or he'd try to tell us more about those cherry blossoms." The two shared another laugh. "Speaking of," she pulled her hand off of his and pushed herself off of the ground, "I think I'm going to go look at them. Maybe I can channel some of Blake's expertise while I'm there."

Pushing himself off of the ground, Will followed closely behind her. Walking across the field almost felt wrong to him. He felt like any moment, a German plane could come from beyond the hill and gun them down. His eyes dart around, looking for any sign of enemies. His hands grasp for his nonexistent rifle. Glancing back towards him, Mags slows her pace. "War's over. I know you can't shake it, but please try to remember you're safe." Her hand intertwines with his, giving him a sense of comfort.

His hand tightens around hers as they make their way towards the cherry blossoms. A blissful peace washes over them as a soft breeze blows a few blossoms off of the trees and to the ground. A gentle smile grows on Mags' lips as they make their way to the middle of the small field of trees. Just three years prior, they had all been chopped down. What she would give for Blake to see them. His hand squeezes hers, grabbing her attention. Turning, her eyes catch a small blossom in his hand. "For you, dear nurse."

With a giggle, she rolls her eyes. Her hands gently take the blossom before placing it behind her ear. "Do I look like a princess?"

A smile grows on his lips as he watches her twirl in front of him. If she had been wearing a dress, he'd be sure it'd twirl along with her. "Maybe get that nose fixed and we'll see." She lets out a quick gasp before punching his arm. The two shared a hearty laugh. "Y'know," Will began, looking out over the field, "we could walk to Écoust."

Mags laughs, nodding along. "That we could." The two fall into a comfortable silence. Mags grabs a blossom from the tree to her right and places it behind Will's ear. "Now we match." As her fingers fix the small blossom behind his ear, his hand slowly slides up to gently grab her wrist. If she dwelt on it too long, she would begin to remember the way he grabbed her wrist when she first poured whiskey on his cut. Her movements froze as their eyes met. "What's wrong?" Her voice was quiet and soft.

"Call me stupid if you want-"

"Don't tempt me."

"But I think I want to kiss you."

Her eyes widen at the statement. That had been the last thing she ever thought he'd say to her. Maybe something more along the lines of 'get off of me' or 'can you back up' was closer to her train of thought. Her gaze darts between his eyes and his lips. "I can't tell if you're joking here or not, but it's quite cruel if-"

Before she could finish her sentence, he presses his lips against hers. For a moment, her entire body freezes before relaxing against his. His arms slid around her, pulling her closer against him. All of the feelings she had felt after April 6th, 1917 came rushing back to her. For a few fleeting moments, she felt truly happy. If she could, she'd spend the rest of her days in his embrace. Pulling back, her eyes slowly flutter open. Her face flushes a crimson red. His swollen lips form a large smile. "Is Margaret Winters embarrassed?"

"Oh, shut it!" Her fingers pinch his side, giggling along with him.

"I'm serious, though," Will stops, sliding his hand into hers, "it would be my honor to court you, Miss Winters."

With a giggle, she rolled her eyes. "Do people still even say that?" Her hand squeezed his before Mags pushed herself on her tip toes to press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. "It would be an honor to be courted by the one Mister Schofield."

1922

HER ARMS WRAPPED TIGHTLY AROUND THE INFANT GIRL. A groan escaped her lips as she lifted the toddler with her other arm. "You're getting much too big for me, Tom." The young boy's giggles were enough to keep her smile growing each day. His small arms wrap tightly around her neck, nearly choking her, but she didn't quite mind. What a way to go, choked to death by your own son. She pressed a quick kiss to the boy's head before setting him down on the floor next to his toy blocks. Carrying the infant on her arms, she entered the kitchen. "Hello, dear." She smiles as she presses a kiss to her husband's cheek. "Think you can take Lauri while I get her bottle ready?"

With a large smile, he sets his pencil down on the table and takes the infant in his arms. "How was work?"

A soft sigh escapes her lips as she grabs the baby bottle. "Same old, same old. Jane has had quite a temper this week so we're all forced to endure her tantrums. Sometimes I'd like to stick a thermometer right up her arse."

He lets out a chuckle, covering the infant's ears at the curse word. "You're going to teach them bad habits if you keep talking like that in front of 'em."

"They're going to learn 'em sooner or later." She turns the sink on to warm up the bottle of milk. "Might as well be from their own mother."

"Now, Margaret," he laughs as he gently rocks the infant in his arms, "is that any attitude to have towards our future generation?"

"Well, William," she turns the sink off and places the nipple cap onto the bottle, "I think they're in the best of hands." Her hand holds the bottle out towards Will. "Your turn to feed her, anyway." Love fills the entire room as he takes the bottle from her and begins to feed the infant.

The patter of small feet grabs their attention from the doorway of the kitchen. The small boy smiles up at his parents, holding out his wooden block. His arms reach out towards Mags in desperate need to be picked up. With a chuckle, she concedes and picks the boy up in her arms. "Aren't you getting a wee bit old to be picked up?" The boy shakes his head before burying his face against the crook of her neck.

As Mags held their son and William held their daughter, the two shared a small smile of their own. This was the happiest they had been and, most likely, the happiest they would ever be. She neared her husband and the two stretched out to meet lips. Within an instant, the young boy's hands pushed his father away. "Get away from my mummy!" He shouted, his arms clinging to Mags' neck.

With a giggle, Mags flashed a cocky smile at Will. "Yeah, get away, you creep."

"Don't feed into that."

"Oh, don't act like she won't be a total daddy's girl." She rolled her eyes as she began swaying with Tom in her arms. "Would you like to dance, you handsome devil?" Tom giggled as he profusely nodded. Mags continued swaying around the kitchen as the boy dug his face into the crook of her neck.

As Lauri finished her bottle, Will pushed himself out of his chair. "I think she's had enough excitement for one day."

"She's only been up an hour." Mags laughed.

"Exactly," Will chuckled as he made his way out of the kitchen, "she's already had a bottle. I think that's plenty excitement for us all." He rocked the infant in his arms as he made his way up the stairs towards her room.

Mags set Tom back down on the ground, patting him on the back and telling him to go play with his toys. Her steps were quiet as she followed behind her husband. She could faintly hear him humming to the infant in his arms. A soft smile grew on her lips as she neared the baby's room. Upon the sight of him humming to their daughter, her heart swelled nearly three times its size. Leaning against the doorframe, Mags watched with a loving smile.

After a few moments, the infant had finally fallen to sleep. Will gently set her down in her crib before turning to face his wife. "I deserve a medal." He mouthed to her, too afraid to wake the infant with any sounds. With quick but silent movements, he made his way over to Mags, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her into the air.

She was quick to cover her mouth as a gasp of surprise escaped her lips. Her hand quickly hit his arm. "You arsehole." She whispered faintly as he set her back down on the ground, his arms still tightly around her waist. "You're tempting the fates now, William."

"When I know there's hardly any repercussions." His smirk sent butterflies through her stomach.

"Diaper duty for a month."

"Whoa, let's not be hasty." He chuckled, pulling her out of the baby's room. "Y'know," he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the crook of Mags' neck, "we could try for number three."

Mags let out a laugh, shaking her head. "Are you planning on pushing it out? Because, I'm afraid this one can take no more." Her arms wrapped loosely around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. "Though it's a pretty thought." Pulling herself out of his grip, she began making her way down the stairs. "I'm going to change before starting supper. How does spaghetti sound tonight?"

"Sounds perfect, love." He spoke as he followed her down the stairs.

"Tom," Mags called out to their son, "Mummy's going to change and then start supper. You want to help me cook some spaghetti?"

"Yes, please!" The boy shot up from his toys and jogged into the kitchen. The two adults shared a laugh before Will entered the kitchen to wrangle their son while Mags entered the large bedroom across the hall from the living room. Closing the door, she began stripping off her white nurse's uniform. The muscles in her back ached wildly as she attempted to stretch. Approaching their dresser, she opened the top drawer. At the lack of underwear, she let out a sigh. Grabbing one of the last clean pieces of underwear, she slid the skirt-like garment on.

After pulling on the undergarment, as she went to close the drawer, her eyes caught sight of a familiar blue tobacco tin. Her fingers wrapped around the cold tin as she pulled it out of the drawer. It looked so familiar, but, for the life of her, Mags couldn't quite place it. Popping it open, her mind flooded with memories. A ripped photograph of her younger self was the only item in the tin. Tears pricked at her eyes as her fingers gently ran along the photo.

To her right, the bedroom door opened. "Love," Will's voice grabbed her attention, "we got everything ready. Just waiting on your command- What do you have there?" His eyes dart to the small tin in her hands. Gentle tears slipped down her cheeks. "Maggie," he approached her, looking in at the contents of the tin, "what's wrong, love?"

"I can't believe you kept this." She chuckled, wiping away any stray tears.

"Of course, I kept it." Will laughed, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "You did say that if you were going to be a picture on some poor bastard's bed, it might as well be me." He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. "Y'know, I had it taped to my bedpost back home. First thing I saw when I woke up, last thing I saw when I went to bed."

"I can't tell whether to be creeped out or not." Mags laughed as she leaned her head against his. A loud clatter from the kitchen startled the two. "You didn't leave Tom alone in the kitchen, right?" Before her question could be answered, a wail could be heard from the upstairs bedroom. "Go get Tom and I'll check on Lauri." Mags quickly stuffed the tin back into the drawer before closing it and opening one of Will's drawers. She pulled on one of his older, beige button-ups before leaving the bedroom and jogging up the stairs to comfort the crying infant.

1939

HER SHAKY HANDS TIGHTLY GRIPPED THE LETTER. Tears splotched onto the paper in her grasp. Not again. Anything but this again. She wanted to sob as loudly as she could, but her body wouldn't let her. Not in front of the kids, she thought to herself. "FUCK!" She shouted, pushing herself off of the corner of the bed. The boy flinched back, shocked at her sudden outburst. In his nineteen years of life, he had never once heard his mother shout so harshly - even when he had broken things.

"Mum," his voice was quiet and soft, "I didn't know how to tell you."

Her shoulders shook as she cried into her hands. "Thomas, please tell me this is some stupid joke." She managed to choke through the tears.

"I'm afraid not." He swayed back and forth on his feet. His stomach flipped as he watched his mother wipe away the tears that spilled down her cheeks. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't." She spoke as she approached her son. In an instant, her arms were around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Thomas Schofield, I need you to know that your father and I love you more than anything on this Earth. You and Lauri are what keep us going every day."

Tears began building up in Tom's eyes as he hugged his mother tightly. His face nestled in the crook of her neck, finding a true sense of comfort and love in her embrace. All of his school mates had poked fun at him for being a mother's boy, but he wasn't quite ashamed of it. His mother had shown him true resilience and love all throughout his life and he could only thank her for the man he had turned out to be. "I love you, Mum." He mumbled as a sob broke through. "I don't want to go, Mum. I don't want to kill anyone."

"I love you so, so much, love." She whispered back as the two began swaying gently. Her hands rubbed small circles against his back in a small attempt to quell his sobs. The collar of her shirt began to grow damp from his tears. "When do you ship out?"

"Two weeks from now." He spoke, pulling himself out of her embrace to wipe his tears away.

"Well," she offered a small smile as she wiped her own tears away, "looks like we've got two weeks to keep you occupied."

The front door of the house opened and quickly closed. "I'm home!" The voice of Will called out. Tom's entire form stiffened.

"You haven't told him?" Mags asked her son. He shook his head in response. Her eyes glanced down at the letter. "Want me to handle it?" The boy quickly nodded. Mags slowly nodded, taking a deep breath. With a soft sigh, she forced a smile onto her lips. Her fingers folded up the letter and stuffed it into the back pocket of her trousers. "Hello, dear." She greeted Will in the kitchen. His wide smile almost broke her heart as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Can I speak to you in the bedroom?"

Tom watched his parents enter their bedroom as he took a seat on the couch in the living room. Lauri sat to his left, reading a novel. "What're they talking about?" She asked, furrowing her eyebrows. Tom shrugged, claiming he had no idea.

"What's all this about?" Will asked as he took a seat on the corner of the bed next to Mags. His hand reached out to grab hers, gently running his thumb along her rough and scarred knuckles. "Love, what's wrong?"

Without a word, Mags pulled the letter out of her back pocket and handed it to Will. "Tom got this in the mail a couple days ago. He didn't know how to tell us."

With furrowed eyebrows, Will began reading over the letter. His expression quickly dropped with each word he took in. His grip on the letter tightened, creasing the paper. "Fuck!" He shouted as tears began building in his eyes. He pushed himself off of the corner of the bed and began pacing around the bedroom. "Maggie, please tell me-"

"It's real, Will." She whispered, twiddling her thumbs.

"When-"

"In two weeks." She answered, already knowing his questions. They were the same as hers. With a soft sigh, she pushed herself off of the bed and approached him. "We've got two weeks to constantly remind him how much we love him."

"Maybe I could go in his place."

"You're over the drafting age, love. I'm not sure they'd take you."

"We have to fucking try!"

"You think I want this? You think I want my fucking son going off to fight the same fucking war we fought just two decades ago?" Mags huffed in frustration as tears built in her eyes. She took a seat on the bed again, rubbing her face with the palms of her hands. "Fuck." She hissed under her breath.

Will's sob grabbed her attention. "I don't want our son going out there." He managed to speak through his sobs. Taking a seat on the bed, he lied down and rested his head on Mags' lap.

Tears of her own began to spill as her husband sobbed into her lap. In the nineteen years they had been married and the twenty-two years they had known each other, she had never seen him like this. It broke her heart to pieces. Seeing both her son and her husband at their weakest moments shattered her heart and forced a few sobs out of her. Her hand gently rubbed circles against his back, letting him cry as she shed a few tears of her own. If there was something she could say or do to make everything better, she'd do it in a heartbeat. But sometimes silence was the best answer.

With a soft breath, she wiped away her tears. "Will," her voice was quiet, "I love you. We've got an incredible son out there who loves us and the smartest daughter that loves us. He's got two veterans as his parents, so if anyone's gonna make it through this war, it'll be him."

Despite her words, the man continued to cry. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks with no sign of stopping. Even as his wife's arms wrapped around him tightly, he couldn't help but remember the horrors they had seen. At the age of twenty-five, he had seen more than any man should see in a lifetime and now his nineteen year old son was about to witness the same horrors. Opening his blurry eyes, he couldn't help but stare at the cork necklace sitting on their dresser across from them.

1972

SHE APPROACHED THE GRAVES WITH A SAD SMILE. Pushing a piece of honey blonde hair out of her face, she knelt in front of the trio of graves. The girl was quick to brush a stray tear from her face. "Hey, Mum." She whispered as she set down a bouquet of lavenders in front of the middle grave. The tombstone read:

HERE LIES MARGARET AMELIA WINTERS-SCHOFIELD

BORN 19 - 10 - 1894 DIED 24 - 3 - 1963

REMAINED AT HER HUSBAND'S SIDE 'TIL HER DYING BREATH

LOVING MOTHER OF THOMAS ALEXANDER SCHOFIELD AND LAURI ELIZABETH SCHOFIELD

PROUD MEMBER OF THE QUEEN ALEXANDRA'S ROYAL ARMY NURSING CORPS

Opening her sketchbook and pulling out a pencil, Lauri began to sketch the cherry blossom tree that stood above the graves. She scooted in front of the grave to the far left. A tiny British flag was stuck into the ground next to the grave. "I wish I could see your stupid face. You'd probably be all wrinkled." She chuckled as she looked over the tombstone. It read:

HERE LIES THOMAS ALEXANDER SCHOFIELD

BORN 9 - 2 - 1920 DIED 7 - 6 - 1941

GAVE HIS LIFE TO FIGHT INJUSTICE AND EVIL

LOVING SON OF MARGARET AND WILLIAM SCHOFIELD, LOVING BROTHER OF LAURI ELIZABETH SCHOFIELD

Closing her sketchbook, she pushed herself off of the ground. Her feet carried her over to the cherry blossom tree that her parents had insisted on planting. She remembered her mother throwing a fit over watering it every day, even after it had grown quite a bit. A sad smile grew on her lips as she picked off one of the blossoms. Taking a seat in front of the grave to the far right, she twirled the blossom between her fingers. "Hey, Pops. I know they just put you down there, but you're probably already going stir crazy." She chuckled as she set the blossom in front of the tombstone. It read:

HERE LIES WILLIAM GEORGE SCHOFIELD

BORN 22 - 8 - 1892 DIED 17 - 5 - 1972

LOVING HUSBAND TO MARGARET WINTERS-SCHOFIELD, LOVING FATHER TO THOMAS ALEXANDER SCHOFIELD AND LAURI ELIZABETH SCHOFIELD

PROUD WWI VETERAN

With a deep sigh, she pushed herself off of the grassy ground. Quickly wiping away the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks, Lauri took a shaky breath. "Well," she started with a small smile, taking in the sight of her family's graves, "same time next week, yeah?" With that, she turned and made her way back to her car where her loving husband and two children waited patiently.

FIN.


End file.
